‘There was a little girl’ By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow There was a little girl, Who had a little curl, Right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, She was very good indeed, But when she was bad she was horrid.
Cars will be overturned. / And upon his back / shall ride, / to his conquests, / my Lord, / you!
Pretty joy! / Sweet joy, but two days old.
you cough, and syrup is your balm; you’re sick and we snuggle, which is mine.
…I knew / she was not hurt, and yet / a child’s blood so red / it stops a father’s heart.
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, /Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch; / If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; / If all men count with you, but none too much…
Young as she is, the stuff / Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy: / I wish her a lucky passage.
Grow up, then, my Telemachus, grow strong. / Only the gods know if we’ll see each other / again. / You’ve long since ceased to be that babe / before whom I reined in the plowing bullocks.
fist raised, curled; drawn back / in frustration because i don’t understand. / but i do, son. i do.
we cheer the fight to supress the flight, / teach him to crawl and run and shake / it off when he falls; / his instincts are good, but we know better…