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John Bartlett (1820–1905).  Familiar Quotations, 10th ed.  1919.
 
Page 815
 
 
Sir Edmund William Gosse. (1849–1928) (continued)
 
7940
    The Past is like a funeral gone by,
The Future comes like an unwelcome guest.
          Sonnet. May-Day.
7941
    Where are the cities of old time?
          The Ballade of dead Cities.
7942
    If I could read you like a book
  Or like a wizard’s glass of old
I might discover why you look so cold.
          The Cast.
 
Austin Dobson. (1840–1921)
 
7943
    The ladies of St. James’s!
  They’re 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. (1840–1928)
 
7944
    When false things are brought low,
And swift things have grown slow,
Feigning like froth shall go,
      Faith be for aye.
          Between us now.
7945
    Whence comes solace? Not from seeing,
What is doing, suffering, being;
Not from noting Life’s conditions,
Not from heeding Time’s monitions;
  But in cleaving to the Dream
  And in gazing at the Gleam
  Whereby gray things golden seem.
          On a fine Morning.
 

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