Poems on Several Occasions, 1 tomasDodd, Mead, 1895 |
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6 psl.
... There , ' tis gone ! Look in this corner , mind you find it , John ! " III . This was the matter of the note , A long - forgot deposit , Dropped in an Indian dragon's throat , Deep in a fragrant closet , Piled with a dapper Dresden ...
... There , ' tis gone ! Look in this corner , mind you find it , John ! " III . This was the matter of the note , A long - forgot deposit , Dropped in an Indian dragon's throat , Deep in a fragrant closet , Piled with a dapper Dresden ...
16 psl.
... there lies Some vestige of the laughing eyes Of arch Piozzi . For her e'en Time grew debonair . He , finding cheeks unclaimed of care , With late - delayed faint roses there , And lingering dimples , Had spared to touch the fair old ...
... there lies Some vestige of the laughing eyes Of arch Piozzi . For her e'en Time grew debonair . He , finding cheeks unclaimed of care , With late - delayed faint roses there , And lingering dimples , Had spared to touch the fair old ...
21 psl.
... There was Barber DICK with his basin by ; Cobbler JOE with the patch on his eye ; Portly product of Beef and Beer , JOHN the host , he was standing near . Straining and creaking , with wheels awry , Lumbering came the " Plymouth Fly ...
... There was Barber DICK with his basin by ; Cobbler JOE with the patch on his eye ; Portly product of Beef and Beer , JOHN the host , he was standing near . Straining and creaking , with wheels awry , Lumbering came the " Plymouth Fly ...
31 psl.
... there at your ease , And the men flock round Mute at O Marquise ! your knees Thick as bees , every word you utter , Servants to your least frill flutter , " Belle Marquise ! " As you sit there growing prouder , your ringed hands ...
... there at your ease , And the men flock round Mute at O Marquise ! your knees Thick as bees , every word you utter , Servants to your least frill flutter , " Belle Marquise ! " As you sit there growing prouder , your ringed hands ...
33 psl.
... rocailles ; As your Naiads and your trees ; Just as near the old ideal Calm and ease , As the Venus there , by Coustou , That a fan would make quite flighty , VOL . I.- -3 33 Is to her the gods were used to , Is UNE MARQUISE .
... rocailles ; As your Naiads and your trees ; Just as near the old ideal Calm and ease , As the Venus there , by Coustou , That a fan would make quite flighty , VOL . I.- -3 33 Is to her the gods were used to , Is UNE MARQUISE .
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ARSÈNE HOUSSAYE Autonoë BABETTE backswords BALLAD BARON BEAU BROCADE beauty Beersheba Belle Marquise BEN JONSON bird blue Boucher bright eyes brows Burbadge played Caliph chalumeau CHARLES BLANC COUNTESS Cupid's Alley dance Davus dead dear DENISE DOLLY dream E'en Embarquons-nous eyes face fair fate fawn that seeks François Boucher FRANK grace gray hair hand heart intended an Ode King more terrible kissed me to-day knew L'ÉTOILE laughing LAWRENCE London stones look Love's M'sieu Madam Maid Monsieur Muse myrtle twine Naught but myrtle NINETTE NINON o'er oestrus once pipe and flute Poets present for Rose PRINCESS PROCRIS Pure song rhyme Rosina School of Coquettes seeks its mother sigh Sing slower pen smile song stays stirred strange stray fawn sweet teacup-times thee THEOCRITUS thing thou thought Thracian thrush turned Twas twixt VIEUXBOIS watched weary wind-flower yore
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252 psl. - ... saints and his gilded stern-frames He had thought like an egg-shell to crack us ; .Now Howard may get to his Flaccus, And Drake to his Devon again, And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus For where are the galleons of Spain ? Let his Majesty hang to St. James The axe that he whetted to hack us ; He must play at some lustier games Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us ; To his mines of Peru he would pack us To tug at his bullet and chain ; Alas ! that his Greatness should lack -us ! But where...
262 psl. - There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows, And the young year draws to the
223 psl. - Love comes back to his vacant dwelling The old, old Love that we knew of yore ! We see him stand by the open door, With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling. " He makes as though in our arms repelling He fain would lie, as he lay before ; Love comes back to his vacant dwelling...
164 psl. - Hardly the worst of us Here could have smiled ! Only the tremulous Words of a child ; Prattle, that has for stops Just a few ruddy drops. Look. She is sad to miss, Morning and night, His her dead father's kiss Tries to be bright, Good to mamma, and sweet. That is all.
163 psl. - Tis but another dead ; All you can say is said. Carry his body hence, Kings must have slaves ; Kings climb to eminence Over men's graves : So this man's eye is dim ; Throw the earth over him. What was the white you touched, There, at his side ? Paper his hand had clutched Tight ere he died ; Message or wish, may be ; Smooth the folds out and see.
214 psl. - When the hard means rebel, Fairer the work out-grows, More potent far the spell. O POET, then, forbear The loosely-sandalled verse, Choose rather thou to wear The buskin strait and terse; Leave to the tyro's hand The limp and shapeless style; See that thy form demand The labor of the file.
5 psl. - From coffee-coloured laces, So peeped from its old-fashioned dreams The fresher modern traces ; For idle mallet, hoop, and ball Upon the lawn were lying ; A magazine, a tumbled shawl, Round which the swifts were flying ; And, tossed beside the Guelder rose, A heap of rainbow knitting, Where, blinking in her pleased repose, A Persian cat was sitting. " A place to love in, live, for aye, If we too, like Tithonus, Could find some God to stretch the gray, Scant life the Fates have thrown...
250 psl. - Talon-rouge, falbala, queue, Cardinal, Duke, to a man, Eager to sigh or to sue, This was the Pompadour's fan!
106 psl. - My Plato (Plato, too, That wisdom thus should harden !) Declares ' blue eyes look doubly blue Beneath a Dolly Varden.' " She smiled. " My book in turn avers (No author's name is stated) That sometimes those Philosophers Are sadly mis-translated.
221 psl. - URCEUS EXIT." I INTENDED an Ode, And it turned to a Sonnet. It began a la mode, I intended an Ode ; But Rose crossed the road In her latest new bonnet ; I intended an Ode ; And it turned to a Sonnet.