And now 'tis time; for their officious haste, Who would before have borne him to the sky, Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past, Did let too soon the sacred eagle[1] fly. ...
He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires: As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. ...
I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young And weep because I know all things now: I have been a hazel-tree, and they hung The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough Among my leaves in times out of mind:...
Take out the blossom in your hair abloom, No more it seemeth beautiful, or bright, And sickening is its subtly sweet perfume - He will not come to-night.
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet:...
When two little boys - renowned but for noise - Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy! - May hurt a whole school, and the head it employs, Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy! Such loud and hilarious pupils indeed...
"Who but hails the sight with pleasure When the wings of genius rise, Their ability to measure With great enterprise; But in man was ne'er such daring As yon Hawk exhibits, pairing...
All those who quality do prize Must study color, taste and size, And keep their dishes clean and sweet, And all things round their factories neat, For dairymen insist that these...
When I behold Thee, almost slain, With one and all parts full of pain: When I Thy gentle heart do see Pierced through and dropping blood for me, I'll call, and cry out, thanks to Thee. ...
My many cares and much distress Has made me like a wilderness; Or, discompos'd, I'm like a rude And all confused multitude: Out of my comely manners worn, And, as in means, in mind all torn.
Dearest of thousands, now the time draws near That with my lines my life must full-stop here. Cut off thy hairs, and let thy tears be shed Over my turf when I am buried....
Hence they have borne my Lord; behold! the stone Is rolled away and my sweet Saviour's gone. Tell me, white angel, what is now become Of Him we lately sealed up in this tomb?...
Look how our foul days do exceed our fair; And as our bad, more than our good works are, E'en so those lines, pen'd by my wanton wit, Treble the number of these good I've writ....
Here, Here I live with what my board Can with the smallest cost afford; Though ne'er so mean the viands be, They well content my Prue and me: Or pea or bean, or wort or beet,...
[He travels southward, and looks around;] I journeyed from my native spot Across the south sea shine, And found that people in hall and cot Laboured and suffered each his lot Even as I did mine. ...