The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations

الغلاف الأمامي
Pickering, 1844 - 350 من الصفحات
 

ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة

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مقاطع مشهورة

الصفحة 159 - I no bays to crown it, No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, All wasted? Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute...
الصفحة 15 - When once thy foot enters the Church, be bare. God is more there, than thou : for thou art there Only by his permission. Then beware, And make thyself all reverence and fear. Kneeling ne'er spoil'd silk stocking : quit thy state. All equal are within the Church's gate. Resort to sermons, but to prayers most : Praying's the end of preaching. O be drest ; Stay not for th...
الصفحة 85 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
الصفحة 163 - COME, my way, my truth, my life ! Such a way as gives us breath ; Such a truth as ends all strife ; Such a life as killeth death. Come, my light, my feast, my strength ! Such a light as shows a feast ; Such a feast as mends in length ; Such a strength as makes his guest. Come, my joy, my love, my heart ! Such a joy as none can move ; Such a love as none can part ; Such a heart...
الصفحة 50 - WHO says that fictions only and false hair Become a verse ? Is there in truth no beauty ? Is all good structure in a winding stair? . May no lines pass, except they do their duty Not to a true, but painted chair...
الصفحة 160 - Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away; take heed: I will abroad. Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load.
الصفحة 85 - ... Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie. My music shows ye have your closes. And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
الصفحة 92 - LIFE. I MADE a posy, while the day ran by : Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.
الصفحة 75 - HE that is weary, let him sit. My soul would stir And trade in courtesies and wit, Quitting the fur, To cold complexions needing it. Man is no star, but a quick coal Of mortal fire : Who blows it not, nor doth control A faint desire, Lets his own ashes choke his soul.
الصفحة 110 - Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in Music you had skill...

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