Maxioms by Thomas Moore
Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.
Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.
Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume
To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom,
read more
Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume
To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom,
See their own feathers pluck'd, to wing the dart,
Which rank corruption destines for their heart!
Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose read more
Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood;
And those that under Araby's soft sun
Build their high nests of budding cinnamon.
Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious and free,
First flower of the earth, and first gem read more
Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious and free,
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea.
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and
that is eternity.
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and
that is eternity.
