Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,- Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best.
Not to admire, is all the art I know To make men happy, or to keep them so. Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago; And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation; but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?
But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.
I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
A sleep without dreams, after a rough day of toil, is what we covet most; and yet How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay! The very Suicide that pays his debt at once without installments (an old way of paying debts, which creditors regret) Lets out impatiently his rushing breath, less from disgust of life than dread of death.
The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie.
And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.
In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee
He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.
That famish'd people must be slowly nurst, and fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.
The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August
Go let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff not the brand.
And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.
Now what I love in women is, they won't Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it. So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it.
Of all tales 'tis the saddest--and more sad, Because it makes us smile.
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.
Sublime tobacco! which from east to west, Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest; Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides His hours, and rivals opium and his brides; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand: Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe, When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; Like other charmers wooing the caress, More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far Thy naked beauties Give me a cigar!
In general I do not draw well with literary men -- not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
It would be difficult, perhaps, to find the annals of a nation less stained with crimes than those of the Armenians, whose virtues have been those of peace, and their vices those of compulsion. But whatever may have been their destiny and it has been bitter whatever it may be in future, their country must ever be one of the most interesting on the globe.
The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
He was a man of his times. with one virtue and a thousand crimes. (The Corsair)
Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger; opens a new world When this, the present, palls.
Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?
I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, - and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, - thou livest forever!
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