Then came the Autumn, all in yellow clad, To reap the ripened fruits the which the earth had yold. Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frieze, In his right hand a tipped staff he held, Brilliants. MORNING. And so he kept, until the rosy veils Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand KEATS. A TENDER VOICE. Her voice is soft; not shrill and like the lark's, And quelled all shriller music. BARRY CORNWALL. FLOWERS. We have left, behind us, The riches of the meadows, and now come ('Neath those broad leaves, amidst yon straggling grasses), Immaculate odours from the violet Spring up for ever! Like sweet thoughts that come AFFECTION. BARRY CORNWALL. Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted: That which the fountain sheds forth returns again to the fountain. Patience accomplish thy labour: accomplish thy work of affection! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is Godlike. LONGFELLOW. A DULL DAY. For lo! the poppies hung Dew-dabbled on their stalks, the ouzel sung A heavy ditty, and the sullen day Had chidden herald Hesperus away, With leaden looks: the solitary breeze Bluster'd, and slept, and its wild self did tease With wayward melancholy. BATTLES. Then all bad Passions mingled in the strife: KEATS. And Envy with his hidden knife came on, Wiped from his sweating brow his cloud of hair, LETTERS. BARRY CORNWALL. Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires LIBERTY. Oh! give me liberty! For were ev'n Paradise my prison Still I should long to leap the crystal walls. SPEED. Joyous all follow'd, as the leader call'd, Down marble steps; pouring as easily POPE. DRYDEN. As hour-glass sand-and fast, as you might see LOVE. KEATS. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns: Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. SHAKSPERE. |