You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
Men blush less for their crimes than for their weaknesses and
vanity.
[Fr., Les hommes rougissent moins de read more
Men blush less for their crimes than for their weaknesses and
vanity.
[Fr., Les hommes rougissent moins de leur crimes que de leurs
faiblesses et de leur vanite.]
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To bear her secrets so bewrayed.
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To bear her secrets so bewrayed.
An Arab, by his earnest gaze,
Has clothed a lovely maid with blushes;
A smile within his read more
An Arab, by his earnest gaze,
Has clothed a lovely maid with blushes;
A smile within his eyelids plays
And into words his longing gushes.
Innocence is not accustomed to blush.
[Fr., L'innocence a rougir n'est point accoutumee.]
Innocence is not accustomed to blush.
[Fr., L'innocence a rougir n'est point accoutumee.]
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain,
And bear the read more
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain,
And bear the marks upon a blushing face,
OF needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite,
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,
That banish what read more
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite,
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,
That banish what they sue for: redeem thy brother
By yielding up thy body to my will,
Or else he must not only die the death,
But thy unkindess shall his death draw out
To ling'ring sufferance.
Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with read more
Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy;
But I alone, alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with show'rs of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
E'en pity scarce can wish it less!