Where will I find words to describe our stroll,
The Chablis on ice, the toasted bread
And the sweet agate of ripe cherries?
Sunset is far off, and the sea resounds with
The splash of bodies, hot and glad for cool dampness.

Ode--'On A Distant Prospect' Of Making A Fortune

© Charles Stuart Calverley

Now the "rosy morn appearing"
Floods with light the dazzled heaven;
And the schoolboy groans on hearing
That eternal clock strike seven:-

A Song Of Australia

© Roderick Flanagan

Joy fills to-day my bosom, and it flies through every vein,
It comes as on the parched plain descends midsummer rain;
It fills my soul with gladness, e'en to aerial beings new,
As sunbeams fall on budding flowers when morning gilds the dew.

The Ages

© William Cullen Bryant

I.

When to the common rest that crowns our days,

The Art Of War. Book V.

© Henry James Pye

Pallas, whose hand can through each devious road
Conduct your steps to Victory's bright abode,
Teach you success in every hour to find,
And for each season form the Hero's mind,
Shall now in verse the prudent art disclose,
To guard your peaceful quarter's calm repose.

The Temperance Army

© Julia A Moore

Come all ye friends, and citizens,

Where-ever you may be,

Guilt And Sorrow, Or, Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain

© William Wordsworth

I
A TRAVELLER on the skirt of Sarum's Plain
Pursued his vagrant way, with feet half bare;
Stooping his gait, but not as if to gain

Runnamede, A Tragedy. Acts III.-V.

© John Logan

What venerable father stands aghast
In yonder porch? Beneath the weight of years,
And crush of sorrow to the earth he bends.
He wrings his hands; casts a wild look to heaven,
And rends his hoary locks. He comes this way.
Heavens, it is Albemarle!-

Aunt Dorothy's Lecture

Come, go and practise-get your work-

Do something, Nelly, pray.

A Spring Wooing

Come on walkin' wid me, Lucy; 't ain't no time to mope erroun'

Wen de sunshine 's shoutin' glory in de sky,

Idylls of the King: The Last Tournament (excerpt)

To whom the King, "Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear."

Paradise Lost : Book VII.

© John Milton

Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name

If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine

The Enquiry

O SAY, if into sudden storm
Some future cloud we may not shun
Should burst, and Loves bright world deform,
His and your Poet leaving one
Scorning and scorned of heartless men,
Beloved, would you love me then?