The music, and the banquet, and the wine The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments The white arms and the raven hair the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not.
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Dear, dead woman, with suchhair, toowhat's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old.Robert Browning
I'll come no more behind your scenes,David: for the silk stockings and white bosoms of your actresses excite my amorous propensities.
The soul of a true christian, as I then wrote my meditations, appeared like such a little white flower as we see in the spring of the year; low and humble on the ground, opening its bosom to receive the pleasant beams of the sun’s glory; rejoicing, as it were, in a calm rapture; diffusing around a sweet fragrancy; standing peacefully and lovingly, in the midst of other flowers round about; all in like manner opening their bosoms to drink in the light of the sun.jonathan edwards
I am now even more persuaded of the urgent need to study why Socrates was accused. The dislike of philosophy is perennial, and the seeds of the condemnation of Socrates are present at all times, not in the bosoms of pleasure-seekers, who don’t give a damn, but in those of high-minded and idealistic persons who do not want to submit their aspirations to examination.Allan Bloom
Dear, dead women, with such hair, too what's become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms?Robert Browning
Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw, Betwixt the green brink and the running foam, Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest To little harps of gold; and while they mused Whispering to each other half in fear, Shrill music reach'd them on the middle sea.
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane.lord byron
O war! thou son of hell, Whom angry heavens do make their minister, Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly. He that is truly dedicate to war Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself, Hath not essentially but by circumstance The name of valour.
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