Poems on Several Occasions, 1 tomasDodd, Mead, 1895 |
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7 psl.
... thing , Or Love a mere exotic ! I need not search too much to find Whose lot it was to send it , That feel upon me yet the kind , Soft hand of her who penned it ; And see , through two score years of smoke , 7 A DEAD LETTER .
... thing , Or Love a mere exotic ! I need not search too much to find Whose lot it was to send it , That feel upon me yet the kind , Soft hand of her who penned it ; And see , through two score years of smoke , 7 A DEAD LETTER .
46 psl.
... feeling mocked him With a vague sense of something priceless gone ; Then , for at best ' twas but the empty type , The husk of man with which the days were ripe , - Then , he forgot her . But , for you that slew her , You , her own ...
... feeling mocked him With a vague sense of something priceless gone ; Then , for at best ' twas but the empty type , The husk of man with which the days were ripe , - Then , he forgot her . But , for you that slew her , You , her own ...
58 psl.
... the same . In Ovid Case to Case succeeds ; But Names the Reader never reads . " ( That is , Monsieur the Abbé feels His quantities are out at heels ! ) 66 Suffices that , for this our Tale , There 58 PROVERBS IN PORCELAIN .
... the same . In Ovid Case to Case succeeds ; But Names the Reader never reads . " ( That is , Monsieur the Abbé feels His quantities are out at heels ! ) 66 Suffices that , for this our Tale , There 58 PROVERBS IN PORCELAIN .
72 psl.
... this fan , My Grandmother's ! - NINON . And I , I swear On this old turquoise reliquaire , My great , I feel so sad . - great Grandmother's !! - ( After a pause . ) NINETTE ! NINETTE . I too . But why ? NINON . 72 PROVERBS IN PORCELAIN .
... this fan , My Grandmother's ! - NINON . And I , I swear On this old turquoise reliquaire , My great , I feel so sad . - great Grandmother's !! - ( After a pause . ) NINETTE ! NINETTE . I too . But why ? NINON . 72 PROVERBS IN PORCELAIN .
100 psl.
... and Duty ; I felt the pangs of those who feel The Laws of Property beset them ; The conflict made my reason reel , And , half - abstractedly , I ate them ; - Or Two of them . Forthwith Despair- More keen that 100 VIGNETTES IN RHYME .
... and Duty ; I felt the pangs of those who feel The Laws of Property beset them ; The conflict made my reason reel , And , half - abstractedly , I ate them ; - Or Two of them . Forthwith Despair- More keen that 100 VIGNETTES IN RHYME .
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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 hand heart Here's a present 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 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.