Dear brother, to these happy shades repair,
And leave, Oh leave the city's noxious air:
I'll try description, friend---methinks I see
'Twill influence your curiosity.
Before our door a meadow flies the eye,
Circled by hills, whose summits croud the sky;
The silver lily there exalts her...
GREAT sir, as on each levée day
I still attend you - still you say
I'm busy now, to-morrow come;
To-morrow, sir, you're not at home,
So says your porter, and dare I
Give such a man as him the lie?
In imitation, sir, of you,
I keep a mighty levée too;
Where my...
Is there a man who would not be,
My Celia, what is priz'd by thee?
A monkey beau, to please thy sight,
Would wish to be a monkey quite.
Or (couldst thou be delighted so)
Each man of sense would be a beau.
Courtiers would quit their faithless skill,
To be thy faithful dog ...
LET it not Celia's gentle heart perplex
That Gay severe hath satiriz'd her sex;
Had they, like her, a tenderness but known,
Back on himself each pointed dart had flown.
But blame thou last, in whose accomplish'd mind
The strongest satire on thy sex we find.
To the stanch Dust
We safe commit thee —
Tongue if it hath,
Inviolate to thee —
Silence — denote —
And Sanctity — enforce thee —
Passenger — of Infinity —
Thou glorious lamp of Space! Thou that dost flood
The void of heaven with brightness! in thy glow
Unnumbered worlds, age after age, have trod
In their appointed paths, and yet the flow
Of brightness hath not ebbed. -- Before thy brow
The stars...
Unknown great Master! whose creative thought
Is here inscribed, though from Fame's shining scroll
Thy name is lost, this wondrous dome is fraught
With the expression of thy reverent soul.
Immortal, in each curve and line inwrought;
As in the vast,...
Though Time has silvered o'er thy honored head,
And left some traces on thy gallant form,
Upon thy soul no hoar-frost has he shed,
Nor chilled the heart that yet beats true and warm.
And he, in whom the glow of early feeling,
Youth's fire and...
To their apartment deep
No ribaldry may creep
Untumbled this abode
By any man but God —
To this World she returned.
But with a tinge of that —
A Compound manner,
As a Sod
Espoused a Violet,
That chiefer to the Skies
Than to himself, allied,
Dwelt hesitating, half of Dust,
And half of Day, the Bride.