A stream to mingle with your favorite Dee Along the Vale of Meditation flows; So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see In Nature's face the expression of repose,...
"Tunnebridge est ' la m'me distance de Londres, que Fontainebleau l'est de Paris. Ce qu'il y a de beau et de galant dans l'un et dans l'autre sexe s'y rassemble au terns des eaux. La compagnie," etc....
Gift of the Hero, on his dying day, To her, whose pity watched, for ever nigh; Oh! could he see the proud, the happy ray, This relic lights up on her generous eye, Sighing, he'd feel how easy 'tis to pay...
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!...
In beauty, or wit, No mortal as yet To question your empire has dared: But men of discerning Have thought that in learning To yield to a lady was hard.
1 In beauty or wit, No mortal as yet To question your empire has dared; But men of discerning Have thought that in learning To yield to a lady was hard.
Fair inmate of these ivied walls, beneath Whose silent cloisters Ella sleeps in death, Let loftier bards, in rich and glowing lays, Thy gentleness, thy grace, thy virtue praise!...
You smil'd, you spoke, and I believ'd, By every word and smile deceiv'd. Another man would hope no more; Nor hope I what I hop'd before: But let not this last wish be vain; Deceive, deceive me once again!
No more shall I, since I am driven hence, Devote to thee my grains of frankincense; No more shall I from mantle-trees hang down, To honour thee, my little parsley crown;...
Is it you I see go by the window, Jim Larkin - you not looking at me nor any one, And your shadow swaying from East to West? Strange that you should be walking free - you shut down without light,...
Too late! though flowerets round me blow, And clearing skies shine bright and fair; Their genial warmth avails not now Thou art not here the beam to share.
When o'er the chords thy fingers stray, My spirit leaves its mortal clay, A statue there I stand; Thy spell controls e'en life and death, As when the nerves a living breath...