Written by
Paul Laurence Dunbar |
My muvver's ist the nicest one
'At ever lived wiz folks;
She lets you have ze mostes' fun,
An' laffs at all your jokes.
I got a ol' maid auntie, too,
The worst you ever saw;
Her eyes ist bore you through and through,—
She ain't a bit like ma.
She's ist as slim, as slim can be,
An' when you want to slide
Down on ze balusters, w'y she
Says 'at she's harrified.
She ain't as nice as Uncle Ben,
What says 'at little boys
Won't never grow to be big men
Unless they're fond of noise.
But muvver's nicer zan 'em all,
She calls you, "precious lamb,"
An' let's you roll your ten-pin ball,
An' spreads your bread wiz jam.
An' when you're bad, she ist looks sad,
You fink she's goin' to cry;
An' when she don't you're awful glad,
[Pg 248]An' den you're good, Oh, my!
At night, she takes ze softest hand,
An' lays it on your head,
An' says "Be off to Sleepy-Land
By way o' trundle-bed."
So when you fink what muvver knows
An' aunts an' uncle tan't,
It skeers a feller; ist suppose
His muvver 'd been a aunt.
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Written by
Du Fu |
Hundred river daily east flow Traveller go again not rest My life bitter float drift What time have end limit Zan abbot Buddhism old Banish come capital Still by earth dust bother Fairly show emaciated appearance Willow twig morning in hand Bean fruit rain thereafter ripe This body like float cloud What can boundary south north Different county meet old friend New happiness write feelings Heaven long pass fortress cold Year end hunger freeze compel Plains wind blow travel clothes About to part direction sunset dark Horse neigh think old stable Return bird exhaust fold wings Old times gather part place Short time grow thorns jujube Mutual look together decline years Leave stay each strive The hundred rivers flow east every day, The traveller keeps on moving, without rest. My life is one of bitterness and drift, What time will they finally reach their end? Abbot Zan, learned in Buddhist teaching, Banished from the capital to here. Still we're bothered by these earthly cares, Reflected in our lean and haggard faces. We stood one morning with willow twigs in hand; The beans sprouted; then rain; then they ripened again. The body floats along just like a cloud, What limit can there be, to south or north? I meet my old friend in a foreign region, Newly happy, I write what's in my breast. The sky is long, the fortified pass is cold, At the year's end, hunger and chill pursue me. The desert wind blows my travelling clothes, I'm ready to leave and journey into the sunset. The horse neighs, remembering its old stable, Returning birds have all now folded their wings. The places where we used to meet and part, Thorns and brambles have quickly covered over. We look at each other, both in years of decline; Leaving or staying, we each must do our best.
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Written by
Du Fu |
Cane tin how come here Autumn wind already sough Rain waste large court chrysanthemum Frost topple half pool lotus Banish rather against nature Void not leave Chan Mutual meet all night stay Gansu moon toward man round How did your tin-edged cane get here? The autumn wind's already sighing. The rain's laid waste the great court's chrysanthemums, And frost has felled half the pond's lotuses. Banished, you don't renounce your nature, In limbo, you don't depart from Chan. Now we've met, we can spend all night together, The Gansu moon shines round upon us.
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