It's such a little thing to weep,
So short a thing to sigh;
And yet by trades the size of these
We men and women die!
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From the Italian by John Edward Taylor
IF it be true that any beauteous thing
Raises the pure and just desire of man
From earth to God, the eternal fount of all,
Such I believe my love; for as in her
So fair, in whom I all besides forget,
I view the gentle work of her Creator,
I have no care for any other thing,
Whilst thus I love... -
She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o’ mine.I never saw a fairer,
I never lo’ed a dearer,
And neist my heart I ’ll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine.She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,
... -
From the French by Henry Francis Cary
Addressed to his deceased wife, who died in childbed at the age of twenty-twoTO make my lady’s obsequies
My love a minster wrought,
And, in the chantry, service there
Was sung by doleful thought;
The tapers were of burning sighs,
That light and odor gave:
And sorrows, painted o’er with... -
From “Endymion,” Book I.
A THING of beauty is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of... -
Art thou the thing I wanted?
Begone — my Tooth has grown —
Supply the minor Palate
That has not starved so long —
I tell thee while I waited
The mystery of Food
Increased till I abjured it
And dine without Like God —
—
Art thou the thing I wanted?
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* * *
Can there be any thing more mean
More Malice in disguise
Than Praise a Man for doing what
That Man does most despise
5 Reynolds Lectures Exactly so
When he praises Michael AngeloDeath sets a Thing significant
The Eye had hurried by
Except a perished Creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little Workmanships
In Crayon, or in Wool,
With "This was last Her fingers did" —
Industrious until —
The Thimble weighed too heavy —
The stitches...Glory is that bright tragic thing
That for an instant
Means Dominion —
Warms some poor name
That never felt the Sun,
Gently replacing
In oblivion —"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all
And sweetest in the Gale is heard
And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —
I've heard it in the...