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WebThe sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. No exorciser harm thee! Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
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WebIt lies from Heaven across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. But in those tracts, with her, it was The peace of utter light And silence. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim; no echo there, WebDuty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; And, lovers’ sonnets turn’d to holy psalms, A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms: But though from court to cottage he depart, His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart. And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
WebThe hidden secret of eternal bliss Known to the Grecian here a man might find, Ah! you and I may find it now if Love and Sleep be kind. There are the flowers which mourning Herakles Strewed on the tomb of Hylas, columbine, Its white doves all a-flutter where the breeze Kissed them too harshly, the small celandine, WebFrom morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you waiting at that door.
WebThe Burial of Sir John Moore after Corunna. O'er the grave where our hero was buried. And the lantern dimly burning. With his martial cloak around him. And we bitterly thought of the morrow. And we far away on the billow! In the grave where a Briton has laid him. That the foe was sullenly firing. WebCOME into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, Night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the roses blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky,
Web71 Likes, 0 Comments - In Love With Jesus (@_in_love_with_jesus_) on Instagram: "Happy Palm Sunday 珞 #inlovewithjesus #jesus #forever #love #jesuschrist #quotes # ...
WebSee what English Verse (englishverse) has discovered on Pinterest, the world's biggest collection of ideas. mealey\u0027s litigation reportWebA rose, as fair as ever saw the North. A slumber did my spirit seal. A sunny shaft did I behold. A sweet disorder in the dress. A weary lot is thine, fair maid. Absence, hear thou my protestation. Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint. Adieu, farewell earth's bliss! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever. mealey\\u0027s international arbitration reportWebWilliam Watson was born in Burley, West Yorkshire, the son of a canvas merchant. He moved around several times in his childhood on account of his father’s business, eventually growing up in the Liverpool area. mealey\u0027s sofasWebA Dog’s Mistake. With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear. Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain. And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night. He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse. mealey\\u0027s in ely mnWebAbraham Cowley The Wish. WELL then! I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree. The very honey of all earthly joy Does of all meats the soonest cloy; mealey\u0027s glider reclinersWebStrung each his lyre, and tun'd it high, That all the people of the sky. Might know a poetess was born on earth; And then, if ever, mortal ears. Had heard the music of the spheres. And if no clust'ring swarm of bees. On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew, 'Twas that such vulgar miracles. meal feedingWebEast and west and south and north, To summon his array. II East and west and south and north The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage Have heard the trumpet’s blast. Shame on the false Etruscan Who lingers in his home, When Porsena of Clusium Is on the march for Rome. III The horsemen and the footmen Are pouring in amain meal feeding cats