I loathe the squares and streets, And the faces that one meets |
I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time. |
I wept, `Tho' I should die, I know/ That all about the thorn will blow/ In tufts of rosy-tinted snow.' |
I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my savage race. |
I wind about, and in and out,/ With here a blossom sailing,/ And here and there a lusty trout,/ And here and there a grayling. |
If depression had settled like a blanket on the minds of most players, |
If thou shouldst never see my face again, pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. |
In that world-earthquake, Waterloo! |
In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man. |
In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love |
Into the jaws of death,/ Into the mouth of hell/ Rode the six hundred. |
Is there any peace/ In ever climbing up the climbing wave? |
It becomes no man to nurse despair, but, in the teeth of clenched antagonisms, to follow up the worthiest till he die |
It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me |
Jewels five-words long/ That on the stretched forefinger of all Time/ Sparkle for ever. |