Tis Quotes - page 16
'Tis soothing, oh ! most soothing to the heart,
To rove 'mid scenes where once we have been blest!
Each tree, each blossom, has a thrilling charm;
They seem memorials of those happier hours :
The very sigh that tells they are no more,
Is sweet unto the spirit; former days,
And former feelings, rise upon the soul,
Dear as they once have been.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
[Alvine] 'Tis one of those bright fictions that have made
The name of Greece only another word
For love and poetry ; with a green earth-
Groves of the graceful myrtle - summer skies,
Whose stars are mirror'd in ten thousand streams-
Winds that move but in perfume and in music,
And, more than all, the gift of woman's beauty.
What marvel that the earth, the sky, the sea,
Were filled with all those fine imaginings
That love creates, and that the lyre preserves !
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
To love, to be beloved again, and know
A gulf between us:-aye, 'tis misery!
This agony of passion, this wild faith,
Whose constancy is fruitless, yet is kept
Inviolate:-to feel that all life's hope,
And light, and treasure, clings to one from whom
Our wayward doom divides us. Better far
To weep o'er treachery or broken vows,-
For time may teach their worthlessness:-or pine
With unrequited love;-there is a pride
In the fond sacrifice-the cheek may lose
Its summer crimson; but at least the rose
Has withered secretly-at least, the heart
That has been victim to its tenderness,
Has sighed unechoed by some one as true,
As wretched as itself.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
In sooth, this earth is a lovely place;
Pass not in darkness over her face;
Yet call back thy words of doom-
They are too gay and too fair for the tomb.
. . . .
And have seen--alas! 'tis but outward show-
The sunshine of yon green earth below:
Glad of rest must the wretched and way-worn be-
Angel of Death, they are ready for thee!
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever; Spend not then his gifts in vain: Suns that set may rise again; But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys.
Ben Jonson
