Fear No More

Fear no more the lightning flash,     Nor the all-dreaded thunder stone; -William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Fear No More the Heat o' the Sun, from Cymbeline

Space in the Mirror

Somewhere--in desolate windswept space-- In Twilight land--in No-man's land-- Two hurrying Shapes met face to face, And bade each other stand. -Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836-1907), Identity, 1877

Fantasies

A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. -John Milton (1608-1674), Comus

Mind's Ocean

Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas; -Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), The Garden

Dry Sea

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear     And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear,     While the sands o' life shall run. -Robert Burns (1759-1796), A Red, Red Rose

Blazing Sea

Far different there from all that charmed before, The various terrors of that horrid shore,-- Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable days; -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village

Immortal Sea

Hence in a season of calm weather         Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea         Which brought us hither,     Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. -William Wordsworth (1770-1850), Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

Barren Splendor

While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all, In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village

Ethereal Waves

If aught of Oaten Stop, or Pastoral Song May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,     Like thy own solemn springs,     Thy springs and dying gales, O nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,     With brede ethereal wove,     O'erhand his wavy bed; -William Collins (1721-1759), Ode to Evening

Desert Shyness

Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied,     That, hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide,     Thou must have uncommended died. -Edmund Waller (1606-1687), Go, Lovely Rose

Thunder Clouds

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls. -Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), The Eagle

Hastening Waves

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards to contend. -William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Like as the Waves Make towards the Pebbled Shore, Sonnet LX

Parallel Worlds

As lines, so loves, oblique may well Themselves in every angle greet; But ours so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet. -Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), The Definition of Love

Desert Chariot

But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near, And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. -Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), To His Coy Mistress

Burning Spear

With an host of furious fancies Whereof I am commander, With a burning spear and a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander. -Anonymous (c.1400-c.1600), Tom o' Bedlam's Song

Tumultuous Grandeur

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village

Luxury

She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress; Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed, In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed, But verging to decline, its splendors rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village

Dark Ruin

Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village

Last Lights

'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's, Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;     The sun is spent, and now his flasks     Send forth light squibs, no constant rays; -John Donne (1572-1631), A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day, Being the Shortest Day

When Fair Things Are Fading Away

I'd be a butterfly; living a rover, Dying when fair things are fading away! -Thomas Haynes Bayly (1797-1839), I'd Be Butterfly

Frail Charms

But when those charms are past,--for charms are frail,-- When time advances, and when lovers fail, -Oliver Goldsmith (c.1730-1774), The Deserted Village

Lost Youth

But I am none; nor will my sun renew. You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun     At this time to the Goat is run     To fetch new lust, and give it you,         Enjoy your summer all; -John Donne (1572-1631), A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day, Being the Shortest Day