Eliza Cook (24 December 1818 – 23 September 1889 / London Road / Southwark / England)
'''Tis a glorious charter, deny it who can,Eliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. "An Englishman."
That's birthed in the words, "I'm an Englishman."''
''Why should we strive, with cynic frown,Eliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Oh! Dear to Memory.
To knock their fairy castles down?''
''Whom do we dub as Gentleman? TheEliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Nature's Gentleman, st. 1.
Knave, the fool, the brute
If they but own full tithe of gold, and
Wear a courtly suit.''
''Who would not rather trust and be deceived?''Eliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Love On.
''Though language forms the preacher,Eliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Good Works.
'Tis "good works" make the man.''
''Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that startEliza Cook (1818-1889), British poet. Old Dobbin, st. 16.
When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!''
''I love it, I love it; and who shall dareEliza Cook (1818-1889), U.S. poet. The Old Arm-Chair (l. 1-2). . . Anthology of American Poetry. George Gesner, ed. (1983) Avenel Books.
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair?''
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HE crawls to the cliff and plays on a brink
Where every eye but his own would shrink;
No music he hears but the billow’s noise,
And shells and weeds are his only toys.
No lullaby can the mother find
To sing him to rest like the moaning wind;
And the louder it wails and the fiercer it sweeps,
The deeper he breathes and the sounder he sleeps.