A Middle English reading of John Skelton’s poem Speke Parrot.

It’s not so much what you say As the manner in which you say it; It’s not so much the language you use As the tone in which you convey it; “Come here!” I sharply said, And the child cowered and wept. “Come here”, I said – He looked and smiled And straight to my […]

The Land of Nod by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894) From breakfast on through all the day At home among my friends I stay, But every night I go abroad Afar into the land of Nod. All by myself I have to go, With none to tell me what to do — All alone beside the […]

Where Go the Boats? by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894) Dark brown is the river. Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating— Where will all come home? On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down […]

The Cow by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) The friendly cow all red and white, I love with all my heart: She gives me cream with all her might, To eat with apple-tart. She wanders lowing here and there, And yet she cannot stray, All in the pleasant open air, The pleasant light of day; And […]

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Ye sons of earth prepare the plough by William Cowper (1731-1800) Ye sons of earth prepare the plough, Break up your fallow ground! The Sower is gone forth to sow, And scatter blessings round. The seed that finds a stony soil Shoots forth a hasty blade; But ill repays the sower’s toil, Soon withered, scorched, […]

Bed in Summer by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people’s feet […]

Epitaph on a Hare by William Cowper, 1783 Here lies, whom hound did ne’er pursue, Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne’er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard huntsman’s Hallo’, Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Who, nurs’d with tender care, And to domestic bounds confin’d, Was still a wild Jack-hare. Though duly from my […]

Sonnet On The Sea by John Keats (1795 – 1821) It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often ’tis in such gentle temper found That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be mov’d for […]