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About this Poem 

From Ballads and Songs (London: Cassell and Company, 1896).

 

A Doe in the City

  Little KITTY LORIMER,
    Fair, and young, and witty,
  What has brought your ladyship
    Rambling to the City?

  All the Stags in Capel Court
    Saw her lightly trip it;
  All the lads of Stock Exchange
    Twigg'd her muff and tippet.

  With a sweet perplexity,
    And a mystery pretty,
  Threading through Threadneedle Street,
    Trots the little KITTY.

  What was my astonishment—
    What was my compunction,
  When she reached the Offices
    Of the Didland Junction!

  Up the Didland stairs she went,
    To the Didland door, Sir;
  Porters lost in wonderment,
    Let her pass before, Sir.

  "Madam," says the old chief Clerk,
    "Sure we can't admit ye."
  "Where's the Didland Junction deed?"
   Dauntlessly says KITTY.

  "If you doubt my honesty,
    Look at my receipt, Sir."
  Up then jumps the old chief Clerk,
    Smiling as he meets her.

  KITTY at the table sits
    (Whither the old Clerk leads her),
  "I deliver this," she says,
    "As my act and deed, Sir."

  When I heard these funny words
    Come from lips so pretty;
  This, I thought, should surely be
    Subject for a ditty.

  What! are ladies stagging it?
    Sure, the more's the pity;
  But I've lost my heart to her,—
    Naughty little KITTY.

This poem is in the public domain. 

This poem is in the public domain. 

William Makepeace Thackeray

William Makepeace Thackeray, born July 18, 1811, was an English writer best known for his novels, particularly The History of Henry Esmond, Esq. (The Mershon Company Publishers, 1852) and Vanity Fair (Bradbury and Evans, 1848). While in school, Thackeray began writing poems, which he published in a number of magazines, chiefly Fraser and Punch. He died on December 24, 1863.

by this poet

poem
  Galliant gents and lovely ladies,
    List a tail vich late befel,
  Vich I heard it, bein on duty,
    At the Pleace Hoffice, Clerkenwell.

  Praps you know the Fondling Chapel,
    Vere the little children sings:
  (Lor! I likes to hear on Sundies
    Them there pooty little things!)

  In this street there
poem
  Know ye the willow-tree
    Whose gray leaves quiver,
  Whispering gloomily
    To yon pale river;
  Lady, at even-tide
    Wander not near it,
  They say its branches hide
    A sad, lost spirit?

  Once to the willow-tree
    A maid came fearful,
  Pale seemed her cheek to be,
    Her blue eye tearful;
poem
  THE ROCKS.

I was a timid little antelope;
  My home was in the rocks, the lonely rocks.

  I saw the hunters scouring on the plain;
  I lived among the rocks, the lonely rocks.

  I was a-thirsty in the summer-heat;
  I ventured to the tents beneath the rocks.

  Zuleikah brought me water from the well;