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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Pleasure. Book II.

© Matthew Prior

My full design with vast expense achieved,
I came, beheld, admired, reflected, grieved:
I chid the folly of my thoughtless haste,
For, the work perfected, the joy was past.

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No Master

© William Henry Davies

Indeed this is the sweet life! my hand
Is under no proud man's command;
There is no voice to break my rest
Before a bird has left its nest;

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Love’s Portrait

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Out of the day--glare, out of all uproar,
Hurrying in ways disquieted, bring me
To silence, and earth's ancient peace restore,
That with profounder vision I may see.

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The Noble Moringer

© Sir Walter Scott

I.
O, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day,
It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay;
He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame, that was as sweet as May,
And said, "Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say.

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Marion

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

URCHIN of the Syrian face,
And half melancholy grace,
With a look in your dark eyes,
Sometimes deep and overwise;

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The End Of Summer

© Madison Julius Cawein

Pods the poppies, and slim spires of pods

The hollyhocks; the balsam's pearly bredes

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A Plain Life

© William Henry Davies

No idle gold -- since this fine sun, my friend,
Is no mean miser, but doth freely spend.No prescious stones -- since these green mornings show,
Without a charge, their pearls where'er I go.No lifeless books -- since birds with their sweet tongues
Will read aloud to me their happier songs.No painted scenes -- since clouds can change their skies

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Aechdeacon Barbour

© John Greenleaf Whittier

THROUGH the long hall the shuttered windows shed
A dubious light on every upturned head;
On locks like those of Absalom the fair,
On the bald apex ringed with scanty hair,

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Cadmus and Harmonia

© Matthew Arnold

Far, far from here,
The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay
Among the green Illyrian hills; and there
The sunshine in the happy glens is fair,

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Obermann Once More

© Matthew Arnold

Glion?--Ah, twenty years, it cuts
All meaning from a name!
White houses prank where once were huts.
Glion, but not the same!

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To Milton

© Oscar Wilde


 By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,
 Who love her not: Dear God! is this the land
 Which bare a triple empire in her hand
 When Cromwell spake the word Democracy!

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Thyrsis, a Monody

© Matthew Arnold

How changed is here each spot man makes or fills!
In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same;
The village street its haunted mansion lacks,
And from the sign is gone Sibylla's name,

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Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland 1814 I. Suggested By A Beautiful Ruin Upon One Of The Islands Of Lo

© William Wordsworth

A PLACE CHOSEN FOR THE RETREAT OF A SOLITARY INDIVIDUAL, FROM WHOM THIS HABITATION ACQUIRED THE NAME OF THE BROWNIE'S CELL
  I
To barren heath, bleak moor, and quaking fen,
Or depth of labyrinthine glen;

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The Believer's Safety (II)

© John Newton

That man no guard or weapons needs,
Whose heart the blood of Jesus knows;
But safe may pass, if duty leads,
Through burning sands or mountain snows.

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The Buried Life

© Matthew Arnold

Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!

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Philomela

© Matthew Arnold

Hark! ah, the nightingale—
The tawny-throated!
Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph! hark!—what pain!

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The Pagan World

© Matthew Arnold

In his cool hall, with haggard eyes,
The Roman noble lay;
He drove abroad, in furious guise,
Along the Appian way.

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Sohrab and Rustum

© Matthew Arnold

"Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear!
Let there be truce between the hosts to-day.
But choose a champion from the Persian lords
To fight our champion Sohrab, man to man."

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The Voice

© Matthew Arnold

As the kindling glances,
Queen-like and clear,
Which the bright moon lances
From her tranquil sphere

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The Scholar Gypsy

© Matthew Arnold

But, 'mid their drink and clatter, he would fly.
And I myself seem half to know thy looks,
And put the shepherds, wanderer! on thy trace;
And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks
I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place;