The whole east was flecked With flashing streaks and shafts of amethyst, While a light crimson mist Went up before the mounting luminary, And all the strips of cloud began to vary Their hues, and all the zenith seemed to ope As if to show a cope beyond the cope!
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.
For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick O'Teen. And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear, But I have been priest of Partagas a matter of seven year. And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cherry light Of stumps that I burned to friendship, and pleasure and work and fight.rudyard kipling