Horace Smith Poems

In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desart knows:-
...

Champagne doth not a luncheon make,
Nor caviare a meal;
Men gluttonous and rich may take
These till they make them ill.
...

Nothing so true as what you once let fall,--
'To growl at something is the lot of all;
Contentment is a gem on earth unknown,
...

I.

Oh for a field, my friend; oh for a field!
I ask no more
...

Three attorneys came sailing down Chancery Lane,
Down Chancery Lane e'er the courts had sat;
They thought of the leaders they ought to retain,
...

I.

Give that brief to me,
Without so much bother;
...

Two neighbours, fighting for a yard of land;
Two witnesses, who _lie_ on either hand;
Two lawyers, issuing many writs and pleas;
...

The times still 'grow to something strange';
We rap and turn the tables;
We fire our guns at awful range;
We lay Atlantic cables;
...

You say 'tis plain that poets feign,
And from the truth depart;
They write with ease what fibs they please,
With artifice, not art;
...

I.

Oh, saw ye my own true love, I praye,
My own true love so sweete?
...