Lady Clara Vere de Vere
Was eight years old, she said:
Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.
She took her little porringer:
Of me she shall not win renown:
For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid?
There stands the Inspector at thy door:
Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four."
"Kind words are more than coronets,"
She said, and wondering looked at me:
"It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea."
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Comments about this poem (Echoes by Lewis Carroll )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- A Senior Citizen, Pius Didier
- Beclouded, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK
- Why I am taken as toy, noctiluca scintillans
- Let's smile, Nassy Fesharaki
- When I Die A Teacher, Pius Didier
- Family, Kolade Seun
- Mothers!, John Ugolo Umah
- I Just Do Not Know, John Ugolo Umah
- Are you looking, gajanan mishra
- Not worth as human, hasmukh amathalal