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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow My BooksEdmund Spenser Sonnets Sonnet XXX My love is like to ice, and I to fire; How comes it, then, that this her cold so great Is not dissolved through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her intreat? Or how comes it that my exceeding heat Is not delayed by her heart0frozen cold, But that I burn much more in boiling sweat, And feel my flames augmented manifold? What more miraculous thing may be told, That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice, And ice, which is congealed with senseless cold, Should kindle fire by wonderful device? Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
Robert Herrick To Dianeme Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes, Which star-like sparkle in the skies; Nor be you proud that you can see All hearts your captives; yours, yet free; Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons with the love-sick air; When as that ruby which you wear Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, Will last to be a precious stone When all your world of beauty’s gone.
Arthur Hugh Clough
To spend uncounted years of pain, Again, again, and yet again, In working out in heart and brain The problem of our being here; T gather facts from far and near, Upon the mind to hold them clear, And, knowing more may yet appear, Unto one’s latest breath to fear The premature result to draw – Is this the object, end and law, And purpose of our being here?
William Henry Davies The Hour of Magic
This is the hour of magic, when the Moon With her bright wand has charmed the tallest tree To stand stone-still with all his million leaves! I feel around me things I cannot see; I hold my breath, as Nature holds her own. And do the mice and birds, the horse and cow, Sleepless in this deep silence, so intense, Believe a miracle has happened now, And wait to hear a sound they’ll recognize, To prove they still have life with earthly ties?
William Henry Davies Leisure What is this life if, full of care No time to see, when woods we pass, No time to turn at beauty's glance
William Henry Davies Where We Differ
To think my thoughts are hers, Not one of hers is mine; She laughs - while I must sigh; She sighs - while I must whine.
She eats - while I must fast; She reads - while I am blind; She sleeps - while I must wake; Free -- I no freedom find.
To think the world for me Contains but her alone, And that her eyes prefer Some ribbon, scarf, or stone.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow My Books
Sadly as some old medieval knight Gazed at the arms he could no longer wield, The sword two-handed and the shining shield Suspended in the hall, and full in sight, While secret longings for the lost delight Of tourney or adventure in the field Came over him, and tears but half concealed Trembled and fell upon his beard of white, So I behold these books upon their shelf, My ornaments and arms of other days; Nor wholly useless, though no longer used, For they remind me of my other self, Younger and stronger, and the pleasant ways In which I walked, now clouded and confused.
Date: 2016-01-03; view: 1497
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