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��WILLIAM (JOHNSON) CORY Heraclitus
I HEY told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to
shed.
I wept as I remember'd how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.
And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest, Still arc thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake; For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.
COVENTRY PATMORE 769 The Married Lover
r HY, having won her, do I woo ? Because her spirit's vestal grace Provokes me always to pursue,
But, spirit-like, eludes embrace; Because her womanhood is such
That, as on court-days subjects kiss The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch
Affirms no mean familiarness, Nay, rather marks more fair the height
Which can with safety so neglect To dread, as lower ladies might,
That grace could meet with disrespect, Thus she with happy favour feeds
Allegiance from a love so high That thence no false conceit proceeds
Of difference bridged, or state put by;
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