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Irish poet
(1779 - 1852)
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One sole desire, one passion now remains
  To keep life's fever still within his veins,
    Vengeance! dire vengeance on the wretch who cast
      O'er him and all he lov'd that ruinous blast.
      - Lalla Rookh--The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan

The maid of India, blossomed again to hold
  In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold.
      - Lalla Rookh--The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream,
  And the nightingale sings round it all the day long,
    In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream,
      To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
      - Lalla Rookh--The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan

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.
      - Lalla Rookh--The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan
        [Birds of Paradise]

With what a deep devotedness of woe
  I wept thy absence--o'er and o'er again
    Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,
      And memory, like a drop that, night and day,
        Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!
      - Lalla Rookh--The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan

This speck of life in time's great wilderness
  This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
    The past, the future, two eternities!
      - Lalla Rookh--The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan
         (st. 42) [Eternity]

A narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
  The past, the future, two eternities.
      - Lalla Rookh--Veiled Prophet [Life]

Steals timidly away,
  Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray.
      - Lalla Rookh--Veiled Prophet of Khorassan

Oh! that a dream so sweet, so long enjoy'd
  Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy'd!
      - Lalla Rookh--Veiled Prophet of Khorassan
         (st. 62) [Dreams]

No flower of her kindred,
  No rosebud is nigh,
    To reflect back her blushes,
      Or give sigh for sigh.
      - Last Rose of Summer [Roses]

'Tis the last rose of summer,
  Left blooming alone.
      - Last Rose of Summer [Roses]

Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as bright,
  Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.
      - Lines on the Death of Sheridan (st. 11)

Ay--down to the dust with them, slaves as they are,
  From this hour, let the blood in their dastardly veins,
    That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war,
      Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnant in chains.
      - Lines on the Entry of the Austrians into Naples

Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov'd,
  And bright were its flowery banks to his eye;
    But far, very far, were the friends that he lov'd.
      And he gaz'd on its flowery banks with a sigh.
      - Lines Written on Leaving Philadelphia
        [Schuylkill River]

There was a little man, and he had a little soul;
  And he said, "Little Soul, let us try, try, try!"
      - Little Man and Little Soul [Soul]

What would the rose with all her pride be worth,
  Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
      - Love Alone [Roses]

But there's nothing half so sweet in life
  As love's young dream.
      - Love's Young Dream (st. 1) [Love]

It seem'd as if each thought and look
  And motion were that minute chain'd
    Fast to the spot such root she took,
      And--like a sunflower by a brook,
        With face upturn'd--so still remain'd!
      - Loves of the Angels--First Angel's Story
         (l. 33) [Sensibility]

A boat at midnight sent alone
  To drift upon the moonless sea.
    A lute, whose leading chord is gone,
      A wounded bird, that hath but one
        Imperfect wing to soar upon,
          Are like what I am, without thee.
      - Loves of the Angels--Second Angel's Story

Then too when angel voices sung
  The mercy of their God, and strung
    Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet,
      That moment watched for by all eyes.
      - Loves of the Angels--Third Angel's Story

Humility, that low, sweet root,
  From which all heavenly virtues shoot.
      - Loves of the Angels--Third Angel's Story
         (st. 11) [Humility]

Those eyes, whose light seem'd rather given
  To be ador'd than to adore--
    Such eyes as may have looked from heaven,
      But ne'er were raised to it before!
      - Loves of the Angels--Third Angel's Story
         (st. 7) [Eyes]

And soon, too soon, we part with pain,
  To sail o'er silent seas again.
      - Meeting of the Ships [Meeting]

I find the doctors and the sages
  Have differ'd in all climes and ages,
    And two in fifty scarce agree
      On what is pure morality.
      - Morality [Morality]

My birthday!--what a different sound
  That word had in my youthful ears;
    And how each time the day comes round,
      Less and less white its mark appears.
      - My Birthday [Birthday]

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