Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour - let no night Seal thy sense in deathly slumber Till to delight Thou hast paid thy utmost blessing.
Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour - let no night Seal thy sense in deathly slumber Till to delight Thou hast paid thy utmost blessing.
I intended an Ode, And it turned to a Sonnet.
Love comes unseen; we only see it go.
Not as ours the books of old - Things that steam can stamp and fold; Not as ours the books of yore - Rows of type, and nothing more.
For I respectfully decline; To dignify the Serpentine, And make hors-d' uvres for fishes.
And I wove the thing to a random rhyme, For the Rose is Beauty, the Gardener, Time.
All passes. Art alone Enduring stays to us The bust outlasts the throne.
In merest prudence men should teach. That science ranks as monstrous things, Two pairs of upper limbs so wings - E'en Angel's wings - are fictions.
Carry his body hence Kings must have slaves Kings climb to eminence, Over men's graves So this man's eye is dim Throw the earth over him
Fame is a food that dead men, eat, - I have no stomach for such meat.
What ye have been ye still shall be, When we are dust the dust among, O yellow flowers!
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories