The old gentleman, tapping his amber snuff-box (A heart-shaped snuff-box with a golden clasp) Stared at the dying fire. "I'd like them all To understand, when I am gone," he muttered....
Is it only twelve mont' I play de fool, You're sure it 'scorrec' , ma dear? I 'm glad for hearin' you spik dat way For I t'ink it was twenty year, Since leffin' de leetle ole house below,...
Mark: So, Maurice, you sail to-morrow, you say? And you may or may not return? Be sociable, man! for once in a way, Unless you're too old to learn. The shadows are cool by the water side...
All power is feeble with dissension: For this I quote the Phrygian slave.[2] If aught I add to his invention, It is our manners to engrave, And not from any envious wishes; -...
Old man never had much to say - 'Ceptin' to Jim, - And Jim was the wildest boy he had - And the old man jes' wrapped up in him! Never heerd him speak but once Er twice in my life, - and first time was...
An old man, riding on his ass, Had found a spot of thrifty grass, And there turn'd loose his weary beast. Old Grizzle, pleased with such a feast, Flung up his heels, and caper'd round,...
A man was planting at fourscore. Three striplings, who their satchels wore, 'In building,' cried, 'the sense were more; But then to plant young trees at that age!...
Do you know the Old Man of the Sea, of the Sea? Have you met with that dreadful old man? If you have n't been caught, you will be, you will be; For catch you he must and he can. ...
An old man sat beneath a tree Alone; So still was he That, if he had been carved in stone, He could not be More quiet or more cold: He was an ancient man More than A thousand ages old.
I heard the old, old men say, "Everything alters, And one by one we drop away." They had hands like claws, and their knees Were twisted like the old thorn-trees By the waters....
They proved we could not think nor see, They proved we could not write, They proved we drank the day away And raved through half the night. They proved our stars were never up,...
The old remain, the young are gone. The farm dreams lonely on the hill: From early eve to early dawn A cry goes with the whippoorwill "The old remain, the young are gone." ...
An old woman was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked sixpence. "What," said she, "shall I do with this little sixpence? I will go to market, and buy a little pig."
A beldam kept two spinning maids, Who plied so handily their trades, Those spinning sisters down below Were bunglers when compared with these. No care did this old woman know...
There was an old woman tossed up in a blanket, Seventeen times as high as the moon; Where she was going I could not but ask it, For in her hand she carried a broom....
How swift they go, Life's many years, With their winds of woe And their storms of tears, And their darkest of nights whose shadowy slopes Are lit with the flashes of starriest hopes,...