When, Lydia, you (once fond and true, But now grown cold and supercilious) Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms-- Well, by the dog! it makes me bilious!
The sweet spring day is glad with music, But through it sounds a sadder strain; The worthiest of our narrowing circle Sings Loring's dirges o'er again. ...
Poor are the gifts of the poet - Nothing but words! The gifts of kings are gold, Silver, and flocks and herds, Garments of strange soft silk, Feathers of wonderful birds,...
'Yes: in the sea of life enisl'd, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone. The islands feel the enclasping flow,...
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning, Of all to whom thine absence is the night, The blotting utterly from out high heaven The sacred sun, of all who, weeping, bless thee...
Not long ago, the writer of these lines, In the mad pride of intellectuality, Maintained "the power of words"--denied that ever A thought arose within the human brain...
My noble friend, you challenge me to write To you in verse, and often you recite, My promise to you, and to send you newes; As 'tis a thing I very seldome vse, And I must write of State, if to Madrid,...
Touch but thy lyre, my Harry, and I hear From thee some raptures of the rare Gotiere; Then if thy voice commingle with the string, I hear in thee rare Laniere to sing;...
Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, Blooming in thy early May, Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, Chilly shrink in sleety show'r! Never Boreas' hoary path, Never Eurus' poisonous breath,...
Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, And with them take the Poet's prayer; That fate may in her fairest page, With every kindliest, best presage Of future bliss, enrol thy name:...
My Muse in meads has spent her many hours Sitting, and sorting several sorts of flowers, To make for others garlands; and to set On many a head here, many a coronet. But amongst all encircled here, not one...
Read thou my lines, my Swetnaham; if there be A fault, 'tis hid if it be voic'd by thee. Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please: How will it drop pure honey speaking these!
I will be short, and having quickly hurl'd This line about, live thou throughout the world; Who art a man for all scenes; unto whom, What's hard to others, nothing's troublesome....
God's grace, the cross, our troubles multiplied, Will make us meet in heaven, full well I know: Yet ere we yield our breath, on earth below Why need a little solace be denied?...
Dear Mr. Dan Leno, - This has been a great week For Art - One of the biggest weeks in fact On record. For at the beginning of the week, my dear Mr. Leno,...
Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas' ears, committing short and long,...
My two-fold Book! single in show But double in Contents, Neat, but not curiously adorn'd Which in his early youth, A poet gave, no lofty one in truth...