The Three Voices

There once was a man who asked for pie,
In a piping voice up high, up high;
And when he asked for a salmon roe,
He spoke in a voice down low, down low;
But when he said he had no choice,
He always spoke in a medium voice.

I cannot tell the reason why
He sometimes spoke up high, up high;
And why he sometimes spoke down low,
I do not know, I do not know;
And why he spoke in the medium way,
Don't ask me, for I cannot say.

Arthur Macy

Arthur Macy was an American poet known for his contributions during the 19th century. Born on June 6, 1842, he became widely recognized for his poignant and evocative verses, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry gained considerable respect and admiration during his lifetime. He passed away on June 1, 1904.

Arthur Macy

The Old Cafe

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

At Marliave's

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

The Oyster

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

The Stranger-Man

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Voice Of The Lobster

"'Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare
'You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.'
As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark:
But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,
His voice has a timid and tremulous sound."

"I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,
How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie:
The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,
While the Old had the dish as its share of the treat.
When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,
Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,
And concluded the ...

Lewis Carroll

Thistle-Down

The thistle-down floats on the air, the air,
    Whenever the soft wind blows,
And the wind can tell just where, just where
    The feathery thistle-down goes.
And it tells the bird in a single word,
    Who whispers it low to the bee;
And they try to keep the mystery deep,
    And none of them tell it to me.
But I know well, though they never will tell,
Where the thistle-down goes when it says "Farewell,"
It floats and floats away on the air,
And goes where the wind goes - everywhere!

Arthur Macy

Uncle Jogalong

My dear old Uncle Jogalong
    Was very slow, was very slow,
And said he thought that folks were wrong
    To hurry so, to hurry so.

When he walked out upon the street
    To take the air, to take the air,
It seemed almost as if his feet
    Were fastened there, were fastened there.

He thought that traveling by rail
    Was hurrying and scurrying,
But said the slow and creeping snail
    Was just the thing, was just the thing.

He thought a hasty appetite
    An awful crime, an awful crime,
So never finished breakfast, quite,
    Till dinner time, till dinner time.

He said the world turned round so fast
    He could not stay, he could not stay,
And so he said "Good-by" at last,
    And went away, and went away.

Arthur Macy

The Indifferent Mariner

I'm a tough old salt, and it's never I care
    A penny which way the wind is,
Or whether I sight Cape Finisterre,
    Or make a port at the Indies.

Some folks steer for a port to trade,
    And some steer north for the whaling;
Yet never I care a damn just where
    I sail, so long's I'm sailing.

You never can stop the wind when it blows,
    And you can't stop the rain from raining;
Then why, oh, why, go a-piping of your eye
    When there's no sort o' use in complaining?

My face is browned and my lungs are sound,
    And my hands they are big and calloused.
I've a little brown jug I sometimes hug,
    And a little bread and meat for ballast.

But I keep no log of my daily grog,
    For what's the use o' being bothered?
I dri...

Arthur Macy

The Three Voices

THE FIRST VOICE


He trilled a carol fresh and free,
He laughed aloud for very glee:
There came a breeze from off the sea:

It passed athwart the glooming flat,
It fanned his forehead as he sat,
It lightly bore away his hat,

All to the feet of one who stood
Like maid enchanted in a wood,
Frowning as darkly as she could.

With huge umbrella, lank and brown,
Unerringly she pinned it down,
Right through the centre of the crown.

Then, with an aspect cold and grim,
Regardless of its battered rim,
She took it up and gave it him.

A while like one in dreams he stood,
Then faltered forth his gratitude
In words just short of being rude:

For it had lost its shape and shine,
And it had cost him four-and-nine,...

Lewis Carroll

The Knight's Song

I'll tell thee everything I can:
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.

'Who are you, aged man?' I said.
'And how is it you live?'
And his answer trickled through my head,
Like water through a sieve.
He said, 'I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton-pies,
And sell them in the street.

I sell them unto men,' he said,
'Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread,
A trifle, if you please.'
But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.

So having no reply to give
To what the old man said, I cried
'Come, tell me how you live!'
And thumped him on the head.
His ...

Lewis Carroll