"Old books, old wine, old Nankin blue;— All things, in short, to which belong The charm, the grace that Time makes strong,— All these I prize, but (entre nous) Old friends are best."

"Time goes, you say? Ah, no! Alas, Time stays, we go."

"... it may be interesting for an ear-witness to record that when Austin Dobson, after the publication of 'Vignettes in Rhyme,' was presented to Tennyson, that alarming vates inquired, in sepulchral tones, 'Are you a classic? Then become one! Read Horace every day of your life!' Dobson did not carry out this counsel quite to the letter, but with his customary docility in adopting good advice, he forthwith made a searching and prolonged study of the 'Odes' and 'Epistles,' a study the result of which upon his subsequent verse must be patent to the most careless observer, and may be traced upon his meticulous prose as well."

"A retrospect of the Eighteenth-Century Essayists subsequent to the ',' ',' and ',' only serves to confirm the supremacy of Addison and Steele. Some of their successors approached them in serious writing; others carried the lighter kinds to considerable perfection; but none (Goldsmith alone excepted) really rivaled them in that happily mingling of the lively and severe, which Johnson envied but could not emulate."

"Love comes unseen,—we only see it go."

"Carry his body hence,— Kings must have slaves; Kings climb to eminence Over men's graves: So this man's eye is dim;— Throw the earth over him."

"Fame is a food that dead men eat,— I have no stomach for such meat."

"And round about its gray, time-eaten brow Lean letters speak—a worn and shattered row: I am a Shade: a Shadowe too arte thou: I marke the Time: saye, Gossip, dost thou soe?"

"I walk as one unclothed of flesh, I wash my spirit clean; I see old miracles afresh, And wonders yet unseen. I will not leave Thee till Thou give Some word whereby my soul may live!I listened — but no voice I heard; I looked — no likeness saw; Slowly the joy of flower and bird Did like a tide withdraw; And in the heaven a silent star Smiled on me, infinitely far."

"I buoyed me on the wings of dream, Above the world of sense; I set my thought to sound the scheme, And fathom the Immense; I tuned my spirit as a lute To catch wind-music wandering mute.Yet came there never voice nor sign; But through my being stole Sense of a Universe divine, And knowledge of a soul Perfected in the joy of things, The star, the flower, the bird that sings.Nor I am more, nor less, than these; All are one brotherhood; I and all creatures, plants, and trees, The living limbs of God; And in an hour, as this, divine, I feel the vast pulse throb in mine."

"Canst thou not wait for Love one flying hour O heart of little faith?"

"Ah! sovereign Love, forgive this weaker rhyme! The men of old who sang were great at heart, Yet have we too known woe, and worn thy rose."

"The Night has a thousand eyes, And the Day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun.The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done."

"The wizard silence of the hours of dew."

"With whisper of her mellowing grain, With treble of brook and bud and tree, Earth joys for ever to sustain The bass eternal of the sea."

"Ah! what if some unshamed iconoclast Crumbling old fetish raiments of the past, Rises from dead cerements the Christ at last? What if men take to following where He leads, Weary of mumbling Athanasian creeds?"

"Sudden thy silent beauty on me shone, Fair as the moon had given thee all her spell. Then, as Endymion had found on earth, In unchanged beauty but in fashion changed, Her whom I loved so long; so felt I then, Not that a new love in my heart had birth, But that the old, that far from reach had ranged, Was now on earth, and to be loved of men."

"A sheep in sheep's clothing."

"And six little Singing-boys,—dear little souls! In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, Came in order due, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through."

"The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He call’d for his candle, his bell, and his book: In holy anger, and pious grief, He solemnly curs’d that rascally thief! He curs’d him at board, he curs’d him in bed, From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head! He curs’d him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright; He curs’d him in eating, he curs’d him in drinking, He curs’d him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking; He curs’d him in sitting, in standing, in lying; He curs’d him in walking, in riding, in flying; He curs’d him in living, he curs’d him in dying! Never was heard such a terrible curse! But what gave rise To no little surprise, Nobody seem’d one penny the worse!"

"The jackdaw sat on the Cardinal’s chair! Bishop and abbot and prior were there; Many a monk, and many a friar, Many a knight, and many a squire, With a great many more of lesser degree,— In sooth, a goodly company; And they serv’d the Lord Primate on bended knee."

"And the priests, with awe, As such freaks they saw, Said, “The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw!”"

"His eye so dim, So wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, “! That’s the scamp that has done this scandalous thing! That’s the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal’s Ring!”"

"As strong, as deep, as wide as is the sea, Though by the wind made restless as the wind, By billows fretted and by rocks confined, So strong, so deep, so wide my love for thee."

"A servant's too often a negligent elf; If it's business of consequence, !"

"But wherever they live, or whenever they die, They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe."

"What was to be done? — 'twas perfectly plain That they could not well hang the man over again: — What was to be done? — The man was dead! — Nought could be done — nought could be said; So — my Lord Tomnoddy went home to bed!"

"Here's a corpse in the case with a sad swell'd face, And a 'Crowner's Quest' is a queer sort of thing!"

"Now haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see How he sits there and glow'rs with his head on his knee!"

"So my great love for thee lies tranquil, deep, Forever; though above it passions fierce, Ambition, hatred, jealousy; like waves That seem from earth’s core to the sky to leap, But ocean’s depths can never really pierce; Hide its great calm, while all the surface raves."

"Next morning I was up betimes — I sent the Crier round, All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a pound To find that little vulgar Boy, who'd gone and used me so; But when the Crier cried, "O Yes!" the people cried, "O No!""

"Though I 've always consider'd Sir Christopher Wren, As an architect, one of the greatest of men; And, — talking of Epitaphs, — much I admire his "Circumspice, si Monumentum requiris;" Which an erudite Verger translated to me, " If you ask for his Monument, Sir-come-spy-see!""

"And oh! I shall find how, day by day, All thoughts and things look older; How the laugh of pleasure grows less gay, And the heart of friendship colder."

"She was our queen, our rose, our star; And then she danced—O Heaven, her dancing!"

"Some lie beneath the churchyard stone, And some before the speaker."

"And look upon you with ten thousand eyes Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done."

"I remember, I remember How my childhood fleeted by,— The mirth of its December And the warmth of its July."

"Were I as base as is the lowly plain, And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love."

"His partners at the whist-club said That he was faultless in his dealings."

"Dame Fortune is a fickle gipsy, And always blind, and often tipsy; Sometimes for years and years together, She ’ll bless you with the sunniest weather, Bestowing honour, pudding, pence, You can’t imagine why or whence;— Then in a moment—Presto, pass!— Your joys are withered like the grass;"

"John Bull was beat at Waterloo! They’ll swear to that in France."

"Of science and logic he chatters, As fine and as fast as he can; Though I am no judge of such matters, I’m sure he’s a talented man."

"Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt As well as I, may spend his time in vain! And graven with diamonds, in letters plain, There is written her fair neck round about: "Noli me tangere; for Cæsar’s I am, And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.""

"I cannot * * * say that Pan Passeth Apollo in music manyfold; Praisé Sir Thopas for a noble tale, And scorn the story that the Knighté told."

"When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall, And she me caught in her arms long and small, "Therewith all sweetly did me kiss And softly said: "Dear heart, how like you this?""

"And I have leave to go, of her goodness; And she also to use new-fangleness."