Edward Lear Quotes
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I would be your wife most gladly!(Here she twirled her fingers madly,). But in England I've a mate!Yes! you've asked me far too late, For in England I've a mate.
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They went to sea in a sieve, they did;In a sieve they went to sea;In spite of all their friends could say.
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The Pobble who has no toesHad once as many as we;When they said, 'Some day you may lose them all;'-He replied, - 'Fish fiddle de-dee!'
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It's a fact the whole world knows,That Pebbles are happier without their toes.
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They dined on mince, and slices of quince,Which they ate with a runcible spoon;And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,They danced by the light of the moon,The moon,The moon,They danced by the light of the moon.
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They sailed away for a year and a dayTo the land where the bong-tree grows.
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Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!How charmingly sweet you sing!O let us be married! too long we have tarried:But what shall we do for a ring?'
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Calico Pie,The little Birds flyDown to the calico tree,Their wings were blue,And they sang 'Tilly-loo!'Till away they flew,-And they never came back to me!
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Who, or why, or which, or what,Is the Akond of Swat?
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Far and few, far and few,Are the lands where the Jumblies live;Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,And they went to sea in a Sieve.
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Calico Jam,The little Fish swam,Over the syllabub sea,He took off his hat,To the Sole and the Sprat,And the Willeby-Wat,-But he never came back to me!
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Ploffskin, Pluffskin, Pelican jee!We think no Birds so happy as we!Plumpskin, Ploshkin, Pelican jill!We think so then, and we thought so still!
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When awful darkness and silence reignOver the great Gromboolian plain,Through the long, long wintry nights.When the angry breakers roarAs they beat on the rocky shore;-When Storm-clouds brood on the towering heightsOf the Hills of the Chankly Bore
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On the top of the Crumpetty TreeThe Quangle Wangle sat,But his face you could not see,On account of his Beaver Hat.
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The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to seaIn a beautiful pea green boat,They took some honey, and plenty of money,Wrapped up in a five pound note.The Owl looked up to the stars above,And sang to a small guitar,'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,What a beautiful Pussy you are,You are,You are!What a beautiful Pussy you are!'
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How pleasant to know Mr. Lear!Who has written such volumes of stuff!Some think him ill-tempered and queer,But a few think him pleasant enough.
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His mind is concrete and fastidious,His nose is remarkably big;His visage is more or less hideous,His beard it resembles a wig.
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On the Coast of CoromandelWhere the early pumpkins blow,In the middle of the woodsLived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.Two old chairs, and half a candle,-One old jug without a handle,-These were all his worldly goods.
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On a little heap of BarleyDied my aged uncle Arly,And they buried him one night;-Close beside the leafy thicket;-There, his hat and Railway-Ticket;-There, his ever-faithful Cricket;-(But his shoes were far too tight.)
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There he heard a Lady talking,To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,-'Tis the lady Jingly Jones!On that little heap of stonesSits the Lady Jingly Jones!