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St. Agnes' Eve.
Ode on a Grecian Urn.
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone's
Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all
Hyperion. Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir.
Sonnet to Haydon.
When a new planet swims into his ken;
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
The Burial of Sir John Moore. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note.
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory!
1798-1827. The Course of Time. Book iv. Line 689. He laid his hand upon " the Ocean's mane" And played familiar with his hoary locks.
Book viii. Line 616.
He was a man Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven To serve the Devil in.
Book viii. Line 632.
With one hand he put
Her breathing soft and low,
Kept heaving to and fro.
Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied;
And sleeping when she died.
The Bridge of Sighs.
Take her up tenderly,
Alas! for the rarity
Even God's providence
By the gusty thieves,
Getteth short of leaves.
Song of the Shirt. It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives.
My tears must stop, for every drop, Hinders needle and thread.
Ode to Melancholy.
There's not a string attuned to mirth,
I remember, I remember.
Miss Kilmansegg. Seemed washing his hands with invisible soap In imperceptible water.