Lewis Carroll (1832-1898) You are Old, Father William "You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head - Do you think, at your age, it is right?" "In my youth," Father William replied to his son, "I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again." "You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door - Pray, what is the reason of that?" "In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, "I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment -one shilling the box - Allow me to sell you a couple?" "You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak - Pray, how did you manage to do it?" "In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw Has lasted the rest of my life." "You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose - What made you so awfully clever?" "I have answered three questions, and that is enough," Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!" |
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| Seeking Beauty COLD winds can never freeze, nor thunder sour The cup of cheer that Beauty draws for me Out of those Azure heavens and this green earth -- I drink and drink, and thirst the more I see. To see the dewdrops thrill the blades of grass, Makes my whole body shake; for here's my choice Of either sun or shade, and both are green -- A Chaffinch laughs in his melodious voice. The banks are stormed by Speedwell, that blue flower So like a little heaven with one star out; I see an amber lake of buttercups, And Hawthorn foams the hedges round about. The old Oak tree looks now so green and young, That even swallows perch awhile and sing: This is that time of year, so sweet and warm, When bats wait not for stars ere they take wing. As long as I love Beauty I am young, Am young or old as I love more or less; When Beauty is not heeded or seems stale, My life's a cheat, let Death end my distress. W.H. Davies |
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