The Book of Gems: Chaucer to Prior

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Samuel Carter Hall
Saunders and Otley, 1836
 

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Página 168 - Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Página 174 - Haste thee Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity, Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek ; 30 Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
Página 82 - No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Página 174 - Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth, Whom lovely Venus at a birth With two sister Graces more To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore...
Página 213 - When Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates. And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fetter'd to her eye. The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.
Página 220 - Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews.
Página 217 - And sends the fowls to us in care, On daily visits through the air ; He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night...
Página 160 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death.
Página 208 - THE thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but little need of drink) Drinks ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup. The busy Sun (and one would guess...
Página 177 - Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus

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