You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Very hot and still the air was,
Very smooth the gliding river,
Motionless the sleeping shadows.
Very hot and still the air was,
Very smooth the gliding river,
Motionless the sleeping shadows.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds read more
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So ling lives this, and this gives life to thee.
All labours draw hame at even,
And can to others say,
"Thanks to the gracious God of read more
All labours draw hame at even,
And can to others say,
"Thanks to the gracious God of heaven,
Whilk sent this summer day."
And the daughter of Zion is left as a cottage in a vineyard, as a
lodge in a garden read more
And the daughter of Zion is left as a cottage in a vineyard, as a
lodge in a garden of cucumbers, as a besieged city.
Oh, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day,
And Jamie's after robins, and the man is read more
Oh, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day,
And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay,
And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill,
While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will,
"Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
Oh, where's Polly?"
The Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul.
The Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul.
That beautiful season
. . . the Summer of All-Saints!
Filled was the air with a dreamy read more
That beautiful season
. . . the Summer of All-Saints!
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the
landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat,
The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat,
To closer read more
But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat,
The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat,
To closer shades the panting flocks remove;
Ye gods! and is there no relief for love?
