Vers de Société

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H. Holt, 1875 - 401 psl.
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71 psl. - Man wants but little here below." Little I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone (A very plain brown stone will do, That I may call my own — And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten; — If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen!
255 psl. - A month or more hath she been dead, Yet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed And her together. A springy motion in her gait, A rising step, did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate That flush'd her spirit: I know not by what name beside I shall it call: if 'twas not pride, It was a joy to that allied She did inherit.
72 psl. - ... call my own; — And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten; — If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen ! I always thought cold victual nice; — My choice would be vanilla-ice.
76 psl. - But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff. And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh.
76 psl. - Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the Crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets. And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan ; And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said,
301 psl. - How pleasant it is to have money. I sit at my table en grand seigneur, And when I have done, throw a crust to the poor ; Not only the pleasure, one's self, of good living, But also the pleasure of now and then giving. So pleasant it is to have money, heigh ho ! So pleasant it is to have money.
299 psl. - In golden quiets of the moon. The winter wind is not so cold As the bright smile he sees me win, Nor the host's oldest wine so old As our poor gabble sour and thin.
284 psl. - Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the river's broad expanse ! Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream. Then why pause with indecision. When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian? Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye Sees the falcon's shadow fly? Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafened by the cataract's roar? O, thou child of many prayers...
110 psl. - Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short — When we are gone, Let them sing on Round the old tree.
9 psl. - Fly not yet" — upon the river ; Some jealousy of some one's heir, Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows, — and then we parted. We parted ; — months and years rolled by ; We met again four summers after : Our parting was all sob and sigh; — Our meeting was all mirth and laughter : For in my heart's most secret cell There had been many other lodgers ; And she was not the ball-room Belle, But only — Mrs.

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