All the seasons run their race In this quiet resting-place; Peach, and apricot, and fig Here will ripen, and grow big; Here is store and overplus - More had not Alcinous! — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share Image
In merest prudence men should teach . . . That science ranks as monstrous things Two pairs of upper limbs; so wings-- E'en Angel's wings!--are fictions. — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share
Fame is a food that dead men eat, I have no stomach for such meat. — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share Image
In the School of Coquettes Madam Rose is a scholar,-O, they fish with all nets In the School of Coquettes! When her brooch she… — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share Image
“Time goes, you say? Ah no! Alas, Time stays, we go; Or else, were this not so, What need to chain the hours, For Youth were always ours? Time goes, you say?-ah no! Ours is the eyes' deceit Of men whose flying feet Lead through some landscape low; We pass, and think we see The earth's fixed surface flee:- Alas,… — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share
He is a Patron who looks down, / With careless eyes on men who drown; / But if they chance to reach the land,… — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share Image
All passes, Art alone Enduring stays to us; The Bust out-lasts the throne,-- The coin, Tiberius. — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share
Old books, old wine, old Nankin blue;- All things, in short, to which belong The charm, the grace that Time makes strong, All these I prize, but (entre nous) Old friends are best! — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share
All the seasons run their race In this quiet resting-place; Peach, and apricot, and fig Here will ripen, and grow big; Here is store… — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share Image
The ladies of St. James's! They're painted to the eyes; Their white is stays for ever, Their red it never dies; But Phyllida, my… — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share Image
O, Love's but a dance, Where Time plays the fiddle! See the couples advance - O, Love's but a dance! A whisper, a glance,… — Henry Austin Dobson Copy Share Image
