#Epigram
Damaetas is a boy as rue As ever broke maid’s solitude. He watcht the little Ida going Where the wood—raspberries were gr… And, under a pretence of fear
On, for the spirit of that matchle… Whom Nature led throughout her wh… While he embodied breathed etheria… Though panting in the play—hour of… I drank of Avon too, a dangerous…
I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson, Come and share my haunch of veniso… I have too a bin of claret, Good, but better when you share it… Tho’ 'tis only a small bin,
I LEAVE thee, beauteous Italy!… From the high terraces, at even—ti… To look supine into thy depths of… Thy golden moon between the cliff… Or thy dark spires of fretted cypr…
Here, ever since you went abroad, If there be change, no change I s… I only walk our wonted road, The road is only walkt by me. Yes; I forgot; a change there is;
RHAICOS was born amid the hills… Gnidos the light of Caria is disc… And small are the white—crested th… And smaller onward are the purple… Thence festal choirs were visible,…
Very true, the linnets sing Sweetest in the leaves of spring: You have found in all these leaves That which changes and deceives, And, to pine by sun or star,
THERE is a flower I wish to wea… But not until first worn by you— Heartsease—of all earth’s flowers… Bring it; and bring enough for two…
One lovely name adorns my song, And, dwelling in the heart, Forever falters at the tongue, And trembles to depart.
Who will away to Athens with me?… Loves choral songs and maidens cro… Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hois… I promise ye, as many as are here, Ye shall not, while ye tarry with…
Struggling, and faint, and fainter… O Moon! and round thee all thy st… Came forth to help thee, with half… And trembled every one with still… That the black Spectre should hav…
George the First was always recko… Vile, but viler George the Second… And what mortal ever heard Any good of George the Third? When from earth the Fourth descen…
Ianthe! you are call’d to cross th… A path forbidden me! Remember, while the Sun his bless… Upon the mountain—heads, How often we have watcht him layin…
There is delight in singing, tho’… Beside the singer; and there is de… In praising, tho’ the praiser sit… And see the prais’d far off him, f… Shakspeare is not our poet, but th…
You smiled, you spoke, and I beli… By every word and smile deceived. Another man would hope no more; Nor hope I what I hoped before: But let not this last wish be vain…