#Allusion #Epigram
PROUD word you never spoke, but… Four not exempt from pride some fu… Resting on one white hand a warm w… Over my open volume you will say, “This man loved me!” then rise and…
Catch her and hold her if you can— See, she defies you with her fan, Shuts, opens, and then holds it sp… In threatening guise over your hea… Ah! why did you not start before
The Year’s twelve daughters had i… Of measured pace tho’ varying mien… Some froward, some sedater, some a… For festival, some reckless of att… The snow had left the mountain—top…
MY hopes retire; my wishes as bef… Struggle to find their resting—pla… The ebbing sea thus beats against… The shore repels it; it returns ag…
Tell me not what too well I know About the bard of Sirmio. Yes, in Thalia’s son Such stains there are—as when a G… Sprinkles another’s laughing face
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,
TO write as your sweet mother doe… Is all you wish to do. Play, sing, and smile for others,… Let others write for you. Or mount again your Dartmoor grey…
IN his own image the Creator made… His own pure sunbeam quicken’d the… Thou breathing dial! since thy day… The present hour was ever mark’d w…
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…
The leaves are falling; so am I; The few late flowers have moisture… So have I too. Scarcely on any bough is heard Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird
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…
Stand close around, ye Stygian se… With Dirce in one boat conveyed! Or Charon, seeing, may forget That he is old and she a shade.
FATHER! the little girl we see Is not, I fancy, so like me; You never hold her on your knee. When she came home, the other day, You kiss’d her; but I cannot say
Past ruined Ilion Helen lives, Alcestis rises from the shades. Verse calls them forth; 'tis verse… Immortal youth to mortal maids. Soon shall oblivion’s deepening ve…
Life (priest and poet say) is but… I wish no happier one than to be l… Beneath some cool syringa’s scente… Or wavy willow, by the running str… Brimful of Moral, where the Drago…