'''Tis a glorious charter, deny it who can,Eliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. "An Englishman."
That's birthed in the words, "I'm an Englishman."''
''Why should we strive, with cynic frown,Eliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Oh! Dear to Memory.
To knock their fairy castles down?''
''Whom do we dub as Gentleman? TheEliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Nature's Gentleman, st. 1.
Knave, the fool, the brute
If they but own full tithe of gold, and
Wear a courtly suit.''
''Who would not rather trust and be deceived?''Eliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Love On.
''Though language forms the preacher,Eliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Good Works.
'Tis "good works" make the man.''
''Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that startEliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Old Dobbin, st. 16.
When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!''
''I love it, I love it; and who shall dareEliza Cook (1818-1889), U.S. poet. The Old Arm-Chair (l. 1-2). . . Anthology of American Poetry. George Gesner, ed. (1983) Avenel Books.
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?''
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Song of the Worm
THE worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain
In the field that is stored with its millions of slain ;
The charnel-grounds widen, to me they belong,
With the vaults of the sepulchre, sculptured and strong.
The tower of ages in fragments is laid,
Moss grows on the stones, and I lurk in its shade ;
And the hand of the giant and heart of the brave
Must turn weak and submit to the worm and the grave.