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2,201 illustrations — Poetic illustrations and verse for preaching
In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm -- Pink, lank and warm -- But as he was a worm And worms presume...
I never saw that you did painting need, And therefore to your fair no painting set; I found, or thought I found, you did exceed That barren tender of a poet's debt: And therefore have I slept in your report,...
O truant Muse what shall be thy amends For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd? Both truth and beauty on my love depends; So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
What is there in those distant hills My fancy longs to see, That many a mood of joy instils? Say what can fancy be? Do old oaks thicken all the woods, With weeds and brakes as here? Does common water...
Nose and Chin that make a knocker, Wrinkles that would puzzle Cocker; Mouth that marks the envious Scorner, With a Scorpion in each corner Curling up his tail to sting you, In the place that most may wring you; Eyes...
Oh, the world is all too rude for thee, with much ado and care; Oh, this world is but a rude world, and hurts a thing so fair; Was there a nook in which the world had never been to...
Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies! O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air! The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there! Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the elves'-eyes! The grey lawns cold where gold, where quickgold lies!
between you and me Whirlwinds sweep and billows roar: Yet in spirit oft I see On thy wild and winding shore Freedom's bloodless banners wave,-- Feel the pulses of the brave Unextinguished in the grave,-- See them drenched in sacred...
A Brother and Sister O I admire and sorrow! The heart’s eye grieves Discovering you, dark tramplers, tyrant years. A juice rides rich through bluebells, in vine leaves, And beauty’s dearest veriest vein is tears. Happy the father, mother of these!
The little cottage stood alone, the pride Of solitude surrounded every side.
The ring is on my hand, And the wreath is on my brow; Satins and jewels grand Are all at my command. And I am happy now.
Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his...
When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he: 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!' O word of...
Once a dream did weave a shade O'er my angel-guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled, wildered, and forlorn, Dark, benighted, travel-worn, Over many a tangle spray, All heart-broke, I heard her say: "Oh my children!
I know some lonely Houses off the Road A Robber'd like the look of -- Wooden barred, And Windows hanging low, Inviting to -- A...
What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one, hath every one, one shade, And you but one, can every shadow lend.
Tho has made me, and shall thy work decay? Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste; I run to death, and death meets me as fast, And all my pleasures are like yesterday.
Justum et tenacem propositi virum. 'Odes', iii.
"But if any old Lady, Knight, Priest, or Physician, Should condemn me for printing a second edition; If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse, May I venture to give her a smack of my muse?" Anstey's 'New Bath Guide', p.
Fame, Wisdom, Love, and Power were mine, And Health and Youth possessed me; My goblets blushed from every vine, And lovely forms caressed me; I sunned my heart in Beauty's eyes, And felt my soul grow tender; All Earth can...
I saw her crop a rose Right early in the day, And I went to kiss the place Where she broke the rose away And I saw the patten rings Where she oer the stile had gone, And I love...
This is my play's last scene, here heavens appoint My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace, My span's last inch, my minute's latest point, And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoint My body...
No specious splendour of this stone Endears it to my memory ever; With lustre _only once_ it shone, And blushes modest as the giver.
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart.
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