Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness |
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, / Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; / Conspiring with him how to load and bless / With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run. |
Shakespeare led a life of allegory; his works are the comments on it. |
She looked at me as she did love, / And made sweet moan. |
She looked at me as she did love, / And made sweet moan. |
Should ever the fine-eyed maid to me be kind; Ah! surely it must be whenever I find; Some flowery spot, sequestered, wild, romantic; That often must have seen a poet frantic. |
So the two brothers and their murdered man / Rode past fair Florence. |
Soon, up aloft, / The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide. |
Souls of poets dead and gone, / What Elysium have ye known, / Happy field or mossy cavern, / Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? / Have ye tippled drink more fine / Than mine host's Canary wine? |
St Agnes' Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was! / The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; / The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, / And silent was the flock in woolly fold. |
Stop and consider! life is but a day; A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep Of Montmorenci |
The automobile changed our dress, manners, social customs, vacation habits, the shape of our cities, consumer purchasing patterns, common tastes and positions in intercourse |
The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeable evaporate. |
The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness. |
The latest dream I ever dreamed / On the cold hill side. |