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| As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white check cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and the gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden ..." I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end. -Thomas Stearns Eliot 1888-1965, 'Hysteria' (1915) |
| We have scarcely time to tell thee Of the strange and gifted Shelley, Kind hearted man, but ill-fated, So youthful drowned and cremated. -James McIntyre 1827-1906, 'English Poets: Shelley' (1884) (refers to: Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822) |
| Liqiud Peneus was flowing, And all dark Tempe lay In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing The light of the dying day, Speeded by my sweet pipings. The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, And the Nymphs of the woods and the waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns, And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, With envy of my sweet pipings. -Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822, 'Hymn to Pan' (1820) |
| Say from what simple springs began The vast, ambitious thoughts of man, Which range beyond control; Which seek Eternity to trace, Dive thro' th' infinity of space, And strain to grasp the whole -Mark Akenside 1721-1770, 'Hymn to science' 31-36 (1739) |
| Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd, Thou and I were both beguil'd. Every one that flatters thee Is no friend in misery; Words are easy, like the wind, Faithful friends are hard to find ... -Richard Barnfield 1574-1627, 'An Ode' 27-32 (1598) |
| The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow ; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow ; The storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below ; But nothing drear can move me : I will not, cannot go. -Emily Jane Bronte 1818-1848, 'The night is darkening round me' (1837) |
| Yet ah! why should they know their fate? Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise. -Thomas Gray 1716-1771, 'Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College 95-100 (1742) |
| Meantime, thou hast her, earth; much good May my harm do thee. Since it stood With heaven's will I might not call Her longer mine, I give thee all My short-liv'd right and interest In her whom living I lov'd best; With a most free and bounteous grief, I give thee what I could not keep. -Henry King 1592-1669, 'The Exequy' 61-68 (1624) |
| This is a poem of the air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded; This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, Now whispered and revealed To wood and field. -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-1882, 'Snow-flakes' 13-18 (1858) |