Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
I do not love a man who is zealous for nothing.
I love everything that's old, - old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting,'Twas only that when he was off, he was acting.
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails,And honour sinks where commerce long prevails.
Wisdom makes but a slow defence against trouble, though at last a sure one.
He saw her charming, but he saw not halfThe charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.
On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues.
Modesty is that feeling by which honorable shame acquires a valuable and lasting authority.
The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue;And polyanthus of unnumbered dyes.
Hope smiled when your nativity was cast,Children of Summer!
Where flowers degenerate man cannot live.
Why does the rose her grateful fragrance yield,And yellow cowslips paint the smiling field?
Lotos, the name; divine, nectareous juice!
Flocks thick-nibbling through the clovered vale.
The cowslip is a country wench.
In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white;Like sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery.
The pea is but a wanton witchIn too much haste to wed,And clasps her rings on every hand.
The blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook,Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not.
Login ...
