11 quotes
Methinks adieu
Is cold, when uttered with aught else but tears.
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
How innocent, how beautiful thy sleep !
Sweet one, 'tis peace and joy to gaze on thee!
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
Alas ! alas ! too often conscience sleeps,
When pleasure's syren numbers lull its rest.—
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
You may smile at the fanciful structures I rear,
And say, that my castles are built but on sand ;
Like bubbles, that on the blue waters appear,
That sparkle, invite, and then sink from the hand.
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
Hope, frail but lovely shadow ! thou dost come,
Like a bright vision on our pathway here,
Making the gloomy future beautiful,
And gilding our horizon with a light,
The fairest human eye can ever know.
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
I Give thee, love, a blooming braid;
I cull'd it at eve's 'witching hour ;
I twin'd it in the moon's sweet shade,
When starlight dew was on each flower.
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
Once more my harp awakens ; once again,
Tho' all unworthy be my hand to twine
Th' etherial blossomings of poetry,
I would call forth its numbers, yet would feel
Its music fall like sunlight on my soul.
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
... absence is
The moonlight of affection
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
The leaves were gone from all, save where the pine
Threw the wide shadow of its unchang'd green.
I could not envy it that fadeless state.—
Ah ! who would be the last, the only one
That ruin spares—no ; if the blight must pass
O'er all around, let it pass o'er me too !
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
'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.
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
And you, my fine poet, who thought that the earth
To another such minstrel could never give birth,
Already your works are all thrown on the shelf,
And their author condemn'd as an ignorant elf.—
Yes ; look thro' the world, and this truth you will find
That, once out of sight, you are soon out of mind.
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)