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Oliver Herford (Оливер Херфорд) The Hen ALAS, my Child, where is the Pen That can do Justice to the Hen? Like Royalty, She goes her way, Laying foundations every day, Though not for Public Buildings, yet For Custard, Cake and Omelette. Or if too Old for such a use They have their Fling at some Abuse, As when to Censure Plays Unfit Upon the Stage they make a Hit, Or at elections Seal the Fate Of an Obnoxious Candidate. No wonder, Child, we prize the Hen, Whose Egg is mightier than the Pen. Oliver Herford's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1225 |
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