Why, let the stingless critic chide With all that fume of vacant pride Which mantles o'er the pendant fool, Like vapor on a stagnant pool. Oh! if the song, to feeling true,...
Besides us two, i' th' temple here's not one To make up now a congregation. Let's to the altar of perfumes then go, And say short prayers; and when we have done so, Then we shall see, how in a little space...
When Time was entwining the garland of years, Which to crown my beloved was given, Though some of the leaves might be sullied with tears, Yet the flowers were all gathered in heaven. ...
Thou know'st, my Julia, that it is thy turn This morning's incense to prepare and burn. The chaplet and Inarculum[L] here be, With the white vestures, all attending thee....
Ah, truant, thou art here again, I see! For in a season of such wretched weather I thought that thou hadst left us altogether, Although I could not choose but fancy thee...
To know just how he suffered would be dear; To know if any human eyes were near To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze, Until it settled firm on Paradise.
Romance was always young. You come today Just eight years old With marvellous dark hair. Younger than Dante found you When you turned His heart into the way That found the heavenly stair....
Oh albums, albums, how I dread Your everlasting scrap and scrawl! How often wish that from the dead Old Omar would pop forth his head, And make a bonfire of you all!...
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are Life of the Muses' day, their morning star! If works, not th' author's, their own grace should look, Whose poems would not wish to be your book?...
Of all the wind-blown dust of faces fair, Had I a god's re-animating breath, Thee, like a perfumed torch in the dim air Lethean and the eyeless halls of death, Would I relume; the cresset of thine hair,...
Thou art indeed a lovely flower, And I, just like the fleeting hour, Which few will heed on folly's brink, So rarely deigns the world to think. Yet, ere I go, child of my heart--...
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:...
A passel o' the boys last night - An' me amongst 'em - kindo got To talkin' Temper'nce left an' right, An' workin' up "blue-ribbon," hot; An' while we was a-countin' jes' How many bed gone into hit...