Ye Carpette Knyghte

I have a horse, a ryghte good horse,
Ne doe Y envye those
Who scoure ye playne yn headye course
Tyll soddayne on theyre nose
They lyghte wyth unexpected force
Yt ys, a horse of clothes.

I have a saddel, "Say'st thou soe?
Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?"
I sayde not that, I answere "Noe",
Yt lacketh such, I woote:
Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe!
Parte of ye fleecye brute.

I have a bytte, a ryghte good bytte,
As shall bee seene yn tyme.
Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte;
Yts use ys more sublyme.
Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt?
Yt ys, thys bytte of rhyme.

Lewis Carroll

Lewis Carroll, born Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, was an English author, poet, and mathematician best known for his classic children's books 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland' and 'Through the Looking-Glass.' A prominent figure in the literary world, Carroll's unique blend of logic, wordplay, and fantasy continues to captivate readers of all ages. His works have inspired countless adaptations in various media, cementing his legacy as a master of imaginative literature.

Lewis Carroll

Father William

Lewis Carroll, Simple Poetry

Theme With Variations

Lewis Carroll, Simple Poetry

Acrostic

Lewis Carroll, Simple Poetry

My Fairy

Lewis Carroll, 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 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

The White Knight's Song

"Haddock's Eyes" or "The Aged Aged Man" or
"Ways and Means" or "A-Sitting On A Gate"

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 it could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
To what the old man...

Lewis Carroll

In A College Garden.

Senex.    Saye, cushat, callynge from the brake,
        What ayles thee soe to pyne?
    Thy carefulle heart shall cease to ake
        When dayes be fyne
        And greene thynges twyne:
        Saye, cushat, what thy griefe to myne?


Turtur.    Naye, gossyp, loyterynge soe late,
        What ayles thee thus to chyde?
    My love is fled by garden-gate;
        Since Lammas-tyde
        I wayte my bryde.
        Saye, gossyp, whom dost thou abyde?

Senex.    Loe! I am he, the 'Lonelie Manne,'
        Of Time forgotten quite,
    That no remembered face may scanne--
        Sadde eremyte,
        I wayte tonyghte
        Pale Death, nor any other wyghte.

    O cushat, cushat, callynge lowe,
        Goe waken Time from sle...

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

In A College Garden.

    Senex.    Saye, cushat, callynge from the brake,
    What ayles thee soe to pyne?
    Thy carefulle heart shall cease to ake
    When dayes be fyne
    And greene thynges twyne:
    Saye, cushat, what thy griefe to myne?


    Turtur.    Naye, gossyp, loyterynge soe late,
    What ayles thee thus to chyde?
    My love is fled by garden-gate;
    Since Lammas-tyde
    I wayte my bryde.
    Saye, gossyp, whom dost thou abyde?

    Senex.    Loe! I am he, the 'Lonelie Manne,'
    Of Time forgotten quite,
    That no remembered face may scanne--
    Sadde eremyte,
    I wayte tonyghte
    Pale Death, nor any other wyghte.

    O cushat, cushat, callynge lowe,
    Goe waken Time from sleepe:
    Goe whysper in his ear, th...

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

The Aged Aged Man

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

An Epistle To Robert Lloyd, Esq.

Tis not that I design to rob
Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob,
For thou art born sole heir, and single,
Of dear Mat Priors easy jingle;
Not that I mean, while thus I knit
My threadbare sentiments together,
To show my genius or my wit,
When God and you know I have neither;
Or such as might be better shown
By letting poetry alone.
Tis not with either of these views
That I presumed to address the muse:
But to divert a fierce banditti
(Sworn foes to every thing thats witty!)
That, with a black, infernal train,
Make cruel inroads in my brain,
And daily threaten to drive thence
My little garrison of sense;
The fierce banditti which I mean
Are gloomy thoughts led on by spleen.
Then theres another reason yet,
Which is, that I may fairly...

William Cowper