Charles Lamb Poems

If you go to the field where the reapers now bind
The sheaves of ripe corn, there a fine little lass,
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Mamma heard me with scorn and pride
A wretched beggar-boy deride.
'Do you not know,' said I, 'how mean
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Said Ann to Matilda, 'I wish that we knew
If what we've been reading of fairies be true.
Do you think that the poet himself had a sight of
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Lately an equipage I overtook,
And helped to lift it o'er a narrow brook.
No horse it had except one boy, who drew
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A child's a plaything for an hour;
Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space;
Then tire, and lay it by
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The month was June, the day was hot,
And Philip had an orange got,
The fruit was fragrant, tempting, bright,
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Friend of my earliest years and childish days,
My joys, my sorrows, thou with me hast shared,
Companion dear, and we alike have fared
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Arrayed-a half angelic sight-
In nests of pure baptismal white,
The mother to the font doth bring
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Mamma gave us a single peach,
She shared it among seven;
Now you may think that unto each
But a small piece was given.
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Hold on thy course uncheck'd, heroic Wood!
Regardless what the player's son may prate,
Saint Stephens' fool, the Zany of Debate-
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