When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
Such subtle covenants shall be made, Till peace itself is war in masquerade.
Dim, as the borrowed beams of moon and stars To lonely, weary, wandering travelers Is reason to the soul.
Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn; Of polished ivory this, that of transparent horn: True visions through transparent horn arise; Through polished ivory pass deluding lies.
The sun, when he from noon declines, And with abated heat less fiercely shines; seems to grow milder as he goes away.
Get the Quotes-Slideshow-Widget for your Website