Poems with rhymes of swine

When Israelites were drunk with wine
And glutted full like silly swine,

And dissections of the bodies of swine,
As likest the human form divine.

On the bread and on the wine.
So I turn'd into a sty
And laid me down among the swine.

Oh, Wilde, Verlaine and Baudelaire, their lips were wet with wine;
Oh poseur, pimp and libertine! Oh cynic, sot and swine!

Our pearl of Peace no more a pearl would shine,
But, trampled under-foot of cowards and swine,

_Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine,--

Ruby her currant-wine;
Grand were the strutting turkeys,
Fat were the beeves and swine.

Of the Germans heaved up and down the line.
'Stand to!'
Too late! 'I'll get him.' 'Oh the swine,

The branded gutter-sign
That marks the girls to be harlots,
That dooms the boys to be swine.

to this strange tale of mine,
All folk that are in England
shall be better lodged than swine.

Didst ever behold so lithe a chine?
His cheek hath laps like a fresh-singed swine.

Ah! who that reads this Book of mine,
In stormy centuries to come,
Will dream I rooted with the swine?

Cursing the powers divine,
That undeservedly have thrown
A pearl unto a swine.

I sat and mused and drank sweet wine;
A herdsman came from inland valleys,
Crying, the pirates drove his swine

The one who's quite the foulest swine
Is given a brimming glass of wine.

I scoff at Power Divine.
And yet . . . a someone spoke the word
That willed me from the swine.

The sullen pack of ragged ugly swine.
Is that the Legion, Gracchus? Quick, the wine!”

With household stuffs, and fowl, and swine,
With Indian weed and planters' wine,

Still serve the peasants for their swine,
We do not leave a lovely home
A wall to hang a washing line.

Do thou, then, grovel like the swine,
And to the ground thy snout confine,