|John Bartlett (18201905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.|
|Sir Edmund William Gosse. (18491928) (continued)|
| The Past is like a funeral gone by,|
The Future comes like an unwelcome guest.
| Sonnet. May-Day.|
| Where are the cities of old time?|
| The Ballade of dead Cities.|
| If I could read you like a book|
Or like a wizards glass of old
I might discover why you look so cold.
| The Cast.|
|Austin Dobson. (18401921)|
| The ladies of St. Jamess!|
Theyre painted to the eyes;
Their white it stays forever
Their red it never dies:
But Phillida, my Phillida!
Her color comes and goes;
It trembles to a lily,
It wavers to a rose.
| At the Sign of the Lyre.|
|Thomas Hardy. (18401928)|
| When false things are brought low,|
And swift things have grown slow,
Feigning like froth shall go,
Faith be for aye.
| Between us now.|
| Whence comes solace? Not from seeing,|
What is doing, suffering, being;
Not from noting Lifes conditions,
Not from heeding Times monitions;
But in cleaving to the Dream
And in gazing at the Gleam
Whereby gray things golden seem.
| On a fine Morning.|