TH' CRITIC's heel is on ye, sure, Carolyn; There's two o' thim beyant th' dure, Carolyn. But, lookut! Now they're on th' flure! 'Tis you've th' sootherin' talk, to cure Th' wildest rage av anny boor, Carolyn, my Carolyn. Meself, that deems meself a larp, Carolyn, Wid manny a "woof," assailed your warp, Carolyn: But, even I have ceased to carp; Th' rage o' me's no longer sharp, So soft ye've played upon this Harp, Carolyn, my Carolyn. This insthrumint on which I play, Carolyn, Is savage, whiles, an', whiles, 'tis gay, Carolyn -- A uke (shill) lele, ye might say -- But, och! th' fine amends ye pay Has charmed its rancor all away, Carolyn, my Carolyn. Let F. P. A. an' Morley bleed, Carolyn. Their suff'rin's let ye little heed, Carolyn. There's so much better stuff to read, An', faith, your book's so grand, indeed, Sure, bless your heart! ye didn't need, Carolyn, @3my@1 carolin'. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLANCY OF THE MOUNTED POLICE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE AGAINST QUARRELLING AND FIGHTING by ISAAC WATTS NAMELESS PAIN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH UNEASY PEACE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 14 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH TO ROBERT SOUTHEY by MARIA GOWEN BROOKS FILIPPO BALDINUCCI ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL by ROBERT BROWNING |