From their folded mates they wander far, Their ways seem harsh and wild: They follow the beck of a baleful star, Their paths are dream-beguiled.
Friar Lawrence alone, with a basket The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Check’ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day’s path and Titan’s burning wheels. Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye The day to cheer and night’s dank dew to dry. I must spill this oster cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The street-lamps burn amidst the baleful glooms, Amidst the soundless solitudes immense Of ranged mansions dark and still as tombs.james thomson
A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe.william shakespeare
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