Select beauties of ancient English poetry, Volume 2 (Google eBook)

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J. Sharpe, 1810 - English poetry
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Page 114 - Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain.
Page 65 - Thou wilt not wake Till I thy fate shall overtake: Till age, or grief, or sickness must Marry my body to that dust It so much loves, and fill the room My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. Stay for me there: I will not fail To meet thee in that hollow vale.
Page 137 - I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me : I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
Page 114 - Love's latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes Now, if thou would'st, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might'st him yet recover!
Page 22 - Like to the falling of a star; Or as the flights of eagles are; Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue; Or silver drops of morning dew; Or like a wind that chafes the flood; Or bubbles which on water stood; Even such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to night. The wind blows out; the bubble dies; The spring entombed in autumn lies; The dew dries up; the star is shot; The flight is past; and man forgot.
Page 149 - While from the bounded level of our mind Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind ; But more...
Page 75 - O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full.
Page 33 - That flesh is but the glass t which holds the dust That measures all our time, which also shall Be crumbled into dust.
Page 106 - Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, In joyless fields and thorny thickets, leaves His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man His annual visit. Half afraid, he first Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights On the warm hearth; then, hopping o'er the floor, Eyes all the smiling family askance, And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is; Till more familiar grown, the table-crumbs Attract his slender feet.
Page 89 - The turtle to her make hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs: The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings; The fishes flete with new repaired scale.

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