English

There is an olden story,
'Tis a legend, so I'm told,
How the flowerets gave a banquet,
In the ivied days of old;
How the posies gave a party once
That wound up with a ball,
How they held it in a valley,
Down in “Flowery Kingdom Hall.”

The flowers of every clime were there,
Of high and low degree,
All with their petals polished,
In sweet aromatic glee.
They met down in this woodland
In the soft and ambient air,
Each in its lolling loveliness,
Exhaled a perfume rare.

Ther is no rose of swich vertù
As is the rose that bare Jesù:
Alleluya!

For in this rose conteined was
Heven and erth in litel space,
Res miranda.

By that rose we may wel see
That He is God in persones three,
Pari forma.

The aungeles sungen the sheperdes to:
‘Gloria in excelsis Deo’.
Gaudeamus!

Leve we al this worldly mirth,
And folwe we this joyful birth:

Thank God we do not live by bread alone
But by all loveliness that we have known,
By each fair color and by each soft tone.

Far to the west the golden wheat fields spread,
And from this beauty soul and sense are fed;
For so God gives us twice our daily bread.

Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief,
Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef,
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy wasn't in,
I jumped upon his Sunday hat, and poked it with a pin.

Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a sham,
Taffy came to my house and stole a leg of lamb,
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was away,
I stuffed his socks with sawdust and filled his shoes with clay.

Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a cheat,
Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of meat,
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy wasn't there,

Sweet Stay-At-Home, sweet Well-content,
Thou knowest of no strange continent:
Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep
A gentle motion with the deep;
Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas,
Where scent comes forth in every breeze.
Thou hast not seen the rich grape grow
For miles, as far as eyes can go;
Thou hast not seen a summer's night
When maids could sew by a worm's light;
Nor the North Sea in spring send out
Bright hues that like birds flit about
In solid cages of white ice—
Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Love-one-place.

The Sun-god was reclining on a couch of rosy shells,
And in the foamy waters Nereids tinkled silver bells,
That lent the soft air sweetness, like an echoed seraph song,
Floating with snowflake hush the aisles of Paradise along.

The Sun-god wove bright flowers, gold and purple in their hue,
And to the smiling Nereids tenderly the blossoms threw;
The sapphire seas were shadowy, like an eye with dreamy thought,
Where all the soul's mute rapture, a prisoned star, is caught.

The billows' rainbow splendor, like a strange, enchanting dream,

In dim green depths rot ingot-laden ships;
And gold doubloons, that from the drowned hand fell,
Lie nestled in the ocean-flower's bell
With love's old gifts, once kissed by long-drowned lips.

And round some wrought gold cup the sea-grass whips,
And hides lost pearls, near pearls still in their shell,
Where sea-weed forests fill each ocean dell,
And seek dim sunlight with their restless tips.

So lie the wasted gifts, the long-lost hopes,
Beneath the now hushed surface of myself,

In arrogance and vanity
Kings sculpture regal words and creeds
On granite, that posterity
May marvel at their mighty deeds
Of war and conquest; time and rust
Grind these memorials to dust.

Only one King came scorning power,
Walked with the humble of the land
And served mankind his willing hour:
And he wrote only on the sand!

In arrogance and vanity
Kings sculpture regal words and creeds
On granite, that posterity
May marvel at their mighty deeds
Of war and conquest; time and rust

I'm lonesome since I cross'd the hill,
And o'er the moor and valley;
Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill,
Since parting with my Sally.
I seek no more the fine or gay,
For each does but remind me
How swift the hours did pass away,
With the girl I've left behind me.

Oh, ne'er shall I forget the night
The stars were bright above me,
And gently lent their silv'ry light
When first she vowed to love me.
But now I'm bound to Brighton camp
Kind Heaven, then, pray guide me,
And send me safely back again

I'm king of the road! I gather
My toll on the world's highways.
They pave the street for my royal feet,
And the man in the wagon pays.
With my sturdy heels I laugh at wheels;
I hurry at no man's will,
For the rich who ride my meat provide;
They must feed the king to his fill.

I'm king of the road! Before me
My way lies over the land,
With a wild rose train from meadow and lane
And the hail of a song-bird band.
They are slaves who team by wagon or steam:
The footman carries the crown.