Maxioms by John Byrom
He makes a solitude, and calls it peace.
He makes a solitude, and calls it peace.
For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs,
Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter.
For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs,
Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter.
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught read more
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?
Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me
But dreams of what has been, no more to be.
Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me
But dreams of what has been, no more to be.
