Cymon And Iphigenia. From Boccace (John Henry Dryden Poems)
Old as I am, for lady's love unfit,The power of beauty I remember yet,Which once inflamed my soul, and still ...
Old as I am, for lady's love unfit,The power of beauty I remember yet,Which once inflamed my soul, and still ...
Beneath the fervour of the noon-tide beamAll Nature's works in placid stillness pause,--Save man, and his joint labourer the horse,The ...
YES ,--whilst my sight is yet allow'd to restOn those dear features, (which it calms my breastTo look upon, and, ...
Hark! the whetstone raspsAlong the mower's scythe; for now's the timeTo reap the grassy mead,—-ere yet the beeInto the purple ...
To praise thy Author, Soul, do not forget;Canst thou, in gratitude, deny the debt?Lord, thou art great, how great we ...
WHEN hope lies dead within the heart,By secret sorrow long conceal'd,We shrink lest looks or words impartWhat may not be ...
Ah, Needwood! I, whose early voiceTaught thy shrill echoes to rejoice;I, who first pour'd the sylvan songThy glades, thy banks, ...
I.The times are changed, and gone the dayWhen the high heavenly land,Though unbeheld, quite near them lay,And men could understand.The ...
This wearisome and this distressing sleep That we call life, O how dost thou support, My Pepoli? With what hopes ...
I.I stand in thought beside my father's grave:The grave of one who, in his old age, diedToo late perhaps, since ...
Ye must be born again. FIRST VOICE.GOOD morrow, comrade! Whence that look elate? Where are thy sins and fears, a ...
Through the city's narrow gatewayForth an aged beggar fares,None is there to give him escort,And no farewell word he bears.Heaven's ...
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