Golden apples of Hesperus, poems not in the collections [ed. by W.J. Linton].

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Page 85 - The Picture of Little TC in a Prospect of Flowers SEE with what simplicity This nymph begins her golden days! In the green grass she loves to lie, And there with her fair aspect tames The wilder flowers, and gives them names: But only with the roses plays; And them does tell What colour best becomes them, and what smell. Who can foretell for what high cause This darling of the gods was born!
Page 32 - Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content ; The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent ; The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown : Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy, when princes 6ft do miss.
Page 14 - Only joy, now here you are, Fit to hear and ease my care; Let my whispering voice obtain Sweet reward for sharpest pain; Take me to thee, and thee to me. "No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.
Page 117 - With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same...
Page 116 - Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane In some untrodden region of my mind, Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind...
Page 91 - Ametas. Think'st Thou that this Love can stand, Whilst Thou still dost say me nay? Love unpaid does soon disband: Love binds Love as Hay binds Hay.
Page 115 - Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed, Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian, They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass; Their arms embraced, and their pinions too; Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu, As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber, And ready still past kisses to outnumber At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love: The winged boy I knew; But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove? His Psyche true! O latest born and loveliest vision far Of all Olympus
Page 115 - Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung Even into thine own soft-conched ear: Surely I dreamt today, or did I see The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes?
Page 57 - Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true; Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Merry springtime's harbinger, With her bells dim...
Page 125 - The bowl goes trim ; the moon doth shine ; And our ballast is old wine : And your ballast is old wine.

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