#Epigram
BLYTHE bell, that calls to brid… Tolls deep a darker day; The very shower that feeds the flo… Weeps also its decay.
Sophocles: Thou goest then, and l… Aeschylos: Nay, say not so. Whose is the hand that now is pres… A hand I may not ever press again… What glorious forms hath it brough…
Smiles soon abate; the boisterous… Of anger long burst forth; Inconstantly the south—wind blows, But steadily the north. Thy star, O Venus! often changes
NO, my own love of other years! No, it must never be. Much rests with you that yet endea… Alas! but what with me? Could those bright years o’er me r…
The Gadite men the royal charge o… Now fragments weighed up from th’… Leave the ground black beneath; ag… Shines into what were porches, and… Once warm with frequentation—clien…
Thou hast not rais’d, Ianthe, suc… In any breast as thou hast rais’d… No wandering meteor now, no marshy… Leads on my steps, but lofty, but… And, if thou chillest me, as chill…
Proud word you never spoke, but yo… Four not exempt from pride some fu… Resting on one white hand a warm w… Over my open volume you will say, 'This man loved me’—then rise and…
Rejoice, ye nations! one is dead By whom ten thousand hearts have b… Widows and orphans, raise your voi… One voice, ye prostrate peoples, r… To God; to God alone be praise!
Catch her and hold her if you can— See, she defies you with her fan, Shuts, opens, and then holds it sp… In threatening guise over your hea… Ah! why did you not start before
I loved him not; and yet, now he i… I feel I am alone. I check’d him while he spoke; yet,… Alas! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once…
OVER his millions Death has lawf… But over thee, brave D’Ossoli! no… After a longer struggle, in a figh… Worthy of Italy, to youth restor’… Thou, far from home, art sunk bene…
Ianthe! you are call’d to cross th… A path forbidden me! Remember, while the Sun his bless… Upon the mountain—heads, How often we have watcht him layin…
Now to Aurora borne by dappled st… The sacred gate of orient pearl an… Smitten with Lucifer’s light silv… Expanded slow to strains of harmon… The waves beneath in purpling rows…
YOU smil’d, you spoke, and I bel… By every word and smile deceiv’d. Another man would hope no more; Nor hope I what I hop’d before: But let not this last wish be vain…
In Clementina’s artless mien Lucilla asks me what I see, And are the roses of sixteen Enough for me? Lucilla asks, if that be all,