Eggs
Eggs
Herbert Asquith
Herbert Asquith
Herbert Asquith
Herbert Asquith
Bob has blown a hundred eggs,Blue and olive, white and grey;Warbler, nightingale, and thrush,Bob has blown their songs away!Low in spotless wool they rest,Purest blue and clouded white,Streaked with cinnamon and red,Flecked with purples of the night;Mute and gleaming, row on row,Lie the tombstones of the spring!What a chorus would there beIf those eggs began to sing!
Bob has blown a hundred eggs,Blue and olive, white and grey;Warbler, nightingale, and thrush,Bob has blown their songs away!Low in spotless wool they rest,Purest blue and clouded white,Streaked with cinnamon and red,Flecked with purples of the night;Mute and gleaming, row on row,Lie the tombstones of the spring!What a chorus would there beIf those eggs began to sing!
Bob has blown a hundred eggs,Blue and olive, white and grey;Warbler, nightingale, and thrush,Bob has blown their songs away!
Bob has blown a hundred eggs,
Blue and olive, white and grey;
Warbler, nightingale, and thrush,
Bob has blown their songs away!
Low in spotless wool they rest,Purest blue and clouded white,Streaked with cinnamon and red,Flecked with purples of the night;
Low in spotless wool they rest,
Purest blue and clouded white,
Streaked with cinnamon and red,
Flecked with purples of the night;
Mute and gleaming, row on row,Lie the tombstones of the spring!What a chorus would there beIf those eggs began to sing!
Mute and gleaming, row on row,
Lie the tombstones of the spring!
What a chorus would there be
If those eggs began to sing!