Category: Poetry
In Ben’s blood there coursed the fire of the Celt, A strain of the strong Saxon thew; From his eyes shot a glint of a son of the South―― An American type through and through. A dreamer, daredevil, and care free, they say, Who lived in the far remote past,―― An unpractical man...
In Ben’s blood there coursed the fire of the Celt, A strain of the strong Saxon thew; From his eyes shot a glint of a son of the South―― An American type through and through. A...
2. Part 2Old Winchester borough, in thriftiness thorough, Sits ninety miles back from the sea; ’Tis famed for its learning and all things concerning Its people of high pedigree. Now some...