Cricket is an ancient pastime; it ripened sweetly, it has endured nobly.
I saw two clouds at morning,Tinged with the rising sun,And in the dawn they floated on,And mingled into one.I thought that morning cloud was blest,It moved so sweetly to the West.john gardiner calkins brainard
The frost stings sweetly with a burning kissAs intimate as love, as cold as death.roy campbell
Sleep sweetly in your humble graves,Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause;Though yet no marble column cravesThe pilgrim here to pause.Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!There is no holier spot of groundThan where defeated valor lies,By mourning beauty crowned!henry timrod
Once in pre-war days, when curiously-bonneted women drivers were familiar sights at the taxi-wheels, I cried out to one in my dismay: "Is there no speed limit in this mad city?""Oh, yes, monsieur," she answered sweetly over her shoulder, "but no one has ever succeeded in reaching it."alexander woollcott
When my mouth shall be filled with dust, and the worm shall feed, and feed sweetly upon me, when the ambitious man shall have no satisfaction if the poorest alive tread upon him, nor the poorest receive any contentment in being made equal to princes, for they shall be equal but in dust.john donne
In the sweetly constituted mind of Sir Philip Sidney, it seems as if no ugly thought or unhandsome meditation could find a harbour. He turned all that he touched into images of honour and virtue.philip sidney
So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return.william shenstone
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong.
Rest, weary heart, From all Thy silent griefs and secret pain, Thy profitless regrets, and longings vain; Wisdom and love have ordered all the past, All shall be blessedness and joy af last; Cast off the cares that have so long oppressed; Rest, sweetly rest!
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended.william shakespeare
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet and green clover.william shakespeare
On Leven's banks, while free to rove, And tune the rural pipe to love, I envied not the happiest swain That ever trod the Arcadian plain. Pure stream! in whose transparent wave My youthful limbs I wont to lave; No torrents stain thy limpid source, No rocks impede thy dimpling course, That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread.tobias smollett