Maxioms by Thomas Moore
Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.
Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must print.
Take up the cross if thou the crown would'st gain.
[Lat., Tolle crucem, qui vis auferre coronam.]
Take up the cross if thou the crown would'st gain.
[Lat., Tolle crucem, qui vis auferre coronam.]
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.
Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye,
But turns to ashes on the lips!
Like Dead Sea fruit that tempts the eye,
But turns to ashes on the lips!
How calm, how beautiful comes on
The stilly hour, when storms are gone!
When warring winds have read more
How calm, how beautiful comes on
The stilly hour, when storms are gone!
When warring winds have died away,
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray,
Melt off, and leave the land and sea
Sleeping in bright tranquillity.
