Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeleine's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory like a saint: She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven.
This is the weather the cuckoo likes, And so do I; When showers betumble the chestnut spikes, And nestlings fly: And the little brown nightingale bills his best, And they sit outside at 'TheTravellers' Rest', And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest, And citizens dream of the south and west, And so do I.thomas hardy
Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed, Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.Ben Jonson
In the days when we went gypsyingA long time ago;The lads and lassies in their bestWere drest from top to toe.
Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast.Ben Jonson
Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders and white his crest.william cullen bryant
The raven once in snowy plumes was drest, White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast, Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl His tongue, his prating tongue had changed him quite To sooty blackness from the purest white.
Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast, Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd. Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound.Ben Jonson
But man, proud man, drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, As make the angels weep.william shakespeare
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