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Lo, a pallid fleecy vapour
Far along the East is spread;
Every star has quench'd its taper,
Lately glimmering over head.
Seasons Of Life
Gazing at the breezy night
Empty or lack of immense sunlight
And the onset of Winters shined
Though reflecting warmth of mankind
SWEET are the thoughts that savor of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown.
D E A T H
Death is but a second stage
Sanctified by God for eternal bliss.
A stage in paradise with a dulcet slumber,
That everyone get ere the judgement.
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seem'd a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
I weep for Adonais-he is dead!
O, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Endymion: Book Iv
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
The Iliad: Book 23
Thus did they make their moan throughout the city, while the
Achaeans when they reached the Hellespont went back every man to his
own ship. But Achilles would not let the Myrmidons go, and spoke to
his brave comrades saying, “Myrmidons, famed horsemen and my own
Through the starry hollow
Of the summer night
I would follow, follow
Hesperus the bright,
C. S. Lewis
Bleak is the night and long
While slumber waits apart,
Refusing this lone heart,
These lips forlorn of song.
Clark Ashton Smith
With short, sharp, violent lights made vivid,
To southward far as the sight can roam,
Only the swirl of the surges livid,
The seas that climb and the surfs that comb.
Adam Lindsay Gordon
The Ballad Of Ahmed Shah
This is the ballad of Ahmed Shah
Dealer in tats in the Sudder Bazar,
By the gate that leads to the Gold Minar
How he was done by a youth from Morar.
On Its Seizure By The English Under Allenby, September 1918
Did they catch as it were in a Vision at shut of the day-
When their cavalry smote through the ancient Esdraelon Plain,
A Masque Presented At Ludlow Castle, 1634, Before
The Earl Of Bridgewater, Then President Of Wales.
The Odyssey: Book 20
Ulysses slept in the cloister upon an undressed bullock's hide, on
the top of which he threw several skins of the sheep the suitors had
eaten, and Eurynome threw a cloak over him after he had laid himself
down. There, then, Ulysses lay wakefully brooding upon the way in
The Odyssey: Book 11
Then, when we had got down to the sea shore we drew our ship into
the water and got her mast and sails into her; we also put the sheep
on board and took our places, weeping and in great distress of mind.
Circe, that great and cunning goddess, sent us a fair wind that blew
It is full winter now: the trees are bare,
Save where the cattle huddle from the cold
Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear
The autumn's gaudy livery whose gold
The Ghosts Of Growth
Last night it snowed; and Nature fell asleep.
Forest and field lie tranced in gracious dreams
Of growth, for ghosts of leaves long dead, me-seems,
Hover about the boughs; and wild winds sweep
George Parsons Lathrop
Ode To Psyche
O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
Oh, let me not serve so, as those men serve
Whom honour's smokes at once fatten and starve;
Poorly enrich't with great men's words or looks;
Nor so write my name in thy loving books
I've a garden, a garden of dreams,
Where the cool breeze whispering sways
Softly the apple-sprays,
The King Of Ys
Wild across the Breton country,
Fabled centuries ago,
Riding from the black sea border,
Came the squadrons of the snow.
In The Factory
Oh, here in the shop the machines roar so wildly,
That oft, unaware that I am, or have been,
I sink and am lost in the terrible tumult;
And void is my soul… I am but a machine.
The stars are all watching;
God's angel is catching
At thy skirts in the darkness deep!
Gold hinges grating,
Ye blooming youth, possest of every grace,
Which can delight the eye, or please the ear,
Who boast a polish'd mind and faultless face,
Awhile the councils of Philemon hear!
From the oped lattice glance once more abroad
While the ethereal moontide bathes with light
Hill, stream, and garden, and white-winding road.
Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom,
Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam,
Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom,
Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home.