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Fourteen small broider’d berries on the hem
Of Circe’s mantle, each of magic gold

— Eugene Lee-Hamilton

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More quotes by Eugene Lee-Hamilton

To keep through life the posture of the grave,
While others walk and run and dance and leap.

Sonnets of the Wingless Hours (1894)

Fourteen clear signs of omen in the gem
With which Medea human fate foretold

What the Sonnet Is (1845)

Or Circe’s cup, embossed with snakes that wound
Through buds and myrtles, fold on scaly fold

The hollow sea-shell, which for years hath stood
On dusty shelves, when held against the ear
Proclaims its stormy parent, and we hear
The faint, far murmur of the breaking flood.
We hear the sea. The Sea? It is the blood
In our own veins, impetuous and near.

All Eugene Lee-Hamilton quotes →

Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Eugene Lee-Hamilton (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.