Time can make soft that iron wood.
Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
Life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse.
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere In shapes of shifting lineage; let geese Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release From dusty bondage into luminous air. O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day, When first the shaft into his vision shone Of light anatomized! Euclid alone Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they Who, though once only and then but far away, Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.
Love is not all; it is not meat nor drink.
The only people I really hate are servants. They're not really human beings at all.
I know, but I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
Evil alone has oil for every wheel.
let geese Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release From dusty bondage into luminous air.
Progress-progress is the dirtiest word in the language-who ever told us- And made us believe it-that to take a step forward was necessarily, was always A good idea?
Night falls fast. Today is in the past. Blown from the dark hill hither to my door Three flakes, then four Arrive, then many more.
Under my head till morning; but the rain, Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh, Upon the glass and listen for reply.
Catch from the board of beauty/ Such careless crumbs as fall.
Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne's Lace.
So up I got in anger, And took a book I had, And put a ribbon on my hair To please a passing lad. And, "One thing there's no getting by -- I've been a wicked girl," said I; But if I can't be sorry, why, I might as well be glad!
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere.
When you are corn and roses and at rest I shall endure, a dense and sanguine ghost To haunt the scene where I was happiest To bend above the thing I loved the most
One things there's no getting by, I've been a wicked girl, Says I... But, if I can't be sorry I might as well be glad !
... but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight
The Englishman foxtrots as he fox-hunts, with all his being, through thickets, through ditches, over hedges, through chiffons, through waiters, over saxophones, to the victorious finish; and who goes home depends on how many the ambulance will accommodate.
This have I known always: Love is no more than the wide blossom which the wind assails, than the great tide that treads the shifting shore, strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales; Pity me that the heart is slow to learn, that the swift mind beholds at every turn.
Tiresome heart, forever living and dying, House without air, I leave you and lock your door. Wild swans, come over the town, come over The town again, trailing your legs and crying!
Dust in an urn long since, dispersed and dead Is great Apollo; and the happier he
Death devours all lovely things; Lesbia with her sparrow Shares the darkness--presently Every bed is narrow.
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