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Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine! Great is thy name in the rubric, Thou venerable flamen of Hymen. . . . Like unto thee, assuredly, there is no other mitred father in the calendar.
- Essays--Valentine's Day [Valentines]
The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever.
- Fancy employed on Divine Subjects (I, 1)
To that unknown and silent shore.
- Hester (st. 1) [Death]
An album is a garden, not for show
Planted, but use; where wholesome herbs should grow.
- In an Album to a Clergyman's Lady
If dirt was trumps, what hands you would hold!
- Lamb's Suppers (vol. II, last chapter)
Books which are no books.
- Last Essay of Elia--Detached Thoughts on Books
I love to lose myself in other men's minds.
When I am not walking, I am reading;
I cannot sit and think. Books think for me.
- Last Essays of Elia--Detached Thoughts on Books and Reading
Half as sober as a judge.
- Letter to Mr. and Mrs. Maxon [Judges]
A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigour of the game.
- Mrs. Battle's Opinions on Whist [Cards]
To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.
- On Ears [Sweetness]
For with G.D., to be absent from the body is sometimes (not to speak it profanely) to be present with the Lord.
- Oxford in the Vacation [Absence]
A babe is fed with milk and praise.
- The First Tooth,
in Charles and Mary Lamb's "Poetry for Children"
Suck, baby! suck! mother's love grows by giving:
Drain the sweet founts that only thrive by wasting!
Black manhood comes when riotous guilty living
Hands thee the cup that shall be death in tasting.
- The Gypsy's Malison,
a sonnet in a letter to Mrs. Procter
Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling?
- The Old Familiar Faces [Friends]
How some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me; all are departed;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
- The Old Familiar Faces [Face]
The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard,
Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice
Of one, who from the far-off hills proclaims
Tidings of good to Zion.
- The Sabbath Bells [Bells]
Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity.
- To V. Novello [Summer]
Who first invented work, and bound the free
And holyday-rejoicing spirit down . . .
To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood? . . .
- Work [Work]
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