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ancient Ann Hathaway appear beautiful Ben Jonson bird breath called Catherine of Valois charm Cloth gilt Coloured curious death delight doth drink earth English epigram eyes fair father flowers fool genius give gold grace hand happy hath heart heaven Henry Henry VIII honour human Joanna Southcott king lady laugh light live look Lord man's married mind moral morning Nabal nature never night o'er Pepys person play pleasure poet poetry poor porringers Queen replied rich Rowland Yorke Saracens Shakspeare sing sleep song sorrow soul story sweet Talmud tell thee thine things Thomas Hood thou thought Tom Jones truth unto Vicar of Bray virtue W. A. Clouston wife wind wine wise woman word write young youth Zozimus
Seite 193 - Alas ! they had been friends in youth ; But whispering tongues can poison truth ; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Seite 130 - Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not.
Seite 193 - O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Seite 47 - THE poetry of earth is never dead : When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead ; That is the Grasshopper's — he takes the lead In summer luxury, — he has never done With his delights ; for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
Seite 160 - Go, lovely Rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows When I resemble her to thee How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Seite 68 - Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home, Your house is on fire, your children will burn.
Seite 193 - Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy...
Seite 194 - Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — do I wake or sleep?