One hates an author that's all author.
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls--the World.
For all we know that English people are/ Fed upon beef - I won't say much of beer/ Because 'tis liquor only, and being far/ From this my subject, has no business here;/ We know too, they are very fond of war,/ A pleasure - like all pleasures - rather dear;/ So were the Cretans - from which I infer/ That beef and battle both were owing her
With flowing tail and flying mane, Wide nostrils never stretched by pain, Mouth bloodless to bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscar'd by spur or rod, A thousand horses - the wild - the free - Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on.
Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality.
This is the patent-age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions; Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.
What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, is much more common where the climate's sultry.
Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber!
Many are poets, but without the name;For what is Poesy but to createFrom overfeeling Good or Ill; and aimAt an external life beyond our fate,And be the new Prometheus of new men,Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain
Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore.
Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!
On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.
A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than of expense.
Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
The music, and the banquet, and the wine-- The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments-- The white arms and the raven hair--the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not.
Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.
I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes - and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue.
And the small ripple spilt upon the beach Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champagne, When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach, That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain! Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please,—the more because they preach in vain,— Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.
My beautiful, my own My only Venice-this is breath! Thy breeze Thine Adrian sea-breeze, how it fans my face! Thy very winds feel native to my veins, And cool them into calmness!
Old man! 'Tis not difficult to die.
Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes; And galvanism has set some corpses grinning, But has not answer'd like the apparatus Of the Humane Society's beginning, By which men are unsuffocated gratis: What wondrous new machines have late been spinning.
With thee all tales are sweet; each clime has charms; earth - sea alike - our world within our arms.
I suppose we shall soon travel by air-vessels; make air instead of sea voyages; and at length find our way to the moon, in spite of the want of atmosphere.
Yet I did love thee to the last, As ferverently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now.
That low vice, curiosity!
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