While, Stella, to your lasting praise The Muse her annual tribute pays, While I assign myself a task Which you expect, but scorn to ask; If I perform this task with pain,...
Beloved, thou art like a tune that idle fingers Play on a window-pane. The time is there, the form of music lingers; But O thou sweetest strain, Where is thy soul? Thou liest i' the wind and rain. ...
Beloved, thou art like a tune that idle fingers Play on a window-pane. The time is there, the form of music lingers; But O thou sweetest strain, Where is thy soul? Thou liest i' the wind and rain. ...
My dear "Daily Mail," - To-day you attain Your 1,650th number, Which, for the sake of talking, We will call your Jubilee. Congratulations, My dear Daily Mail,...
In youth from rock to rock I went From hill to hill in discontent Of pleasure high and turbulent, Most pleased when most uneasy; But now my own delights I make, Thirst at every rill can slake,...
"Her divine skill taught me this, That from every thing I saw I could some instruction draw, And raise pleasure to the height Through the meanest objects sight. By the murmur of a spring,...
Dannebrog of old was seeming Snow-white, rosy red, Through the mists of ages beaming, Heaven's gift outspread, Rich as fruits of Denmark's planting,...
Thou hast taken the light of many suns, And they are sealed in the prison-house of gloom. Even as candle-flames Hast thou taken the souls of men, With winds from out a hollow place;...
I never looked upon thy face; I never saw thy dwelling-place; My home is by Lake Erie's shore, Beyond Niagara's distant roar; And thine where ships at anchor ride, By fair St. Lawrence's rolling tide,...
On the lone waters' shore Wander I yet; Brooding those moments o'er I should forget. 'Till the broad foaming surge Warns me to fly, While despair's whispers urge To stay and die....
SIR, Your Billingsgate Muse methinks does begin With much greater noise than a conjugal din. A pox of her bawling, her tempora et mores! What are times now to me; a'nt I one of the Tories?...
Since your poetic prancer is turn'd into Cancer, I'll tell you at once, sir, I'm now not your man, sir; For pray, sir, what pleasure in fighting is found With a coward, who studies to traverse his ground?...
My dear Deceased Wife's Sister, - (The wife of my bosom being still happily amongst us, The above, As the learned might say, Is a misnomer. You, on the other hand, Are a Miss - - ,...
Vovchsafe to grace these rude vnpolish'd rymes, Which long (dear friend) haue slept in sable night, And, come abroad now in these glorious tymes, Can hardly brook the purenes of the light....
Where others love and praise my verses, still Thy long black thumb-nail marks them out for ill: A fellon take it, or some whitflaw come For to unslate or to untile that thumb!...
Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas; Gloomy and dark as the driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken! Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city's...