Woman! thou loveliest gift that here below Man can receive, or Providence bestow. — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
Apollo has peeped through the shutter, And awaken'd the witty and fair; The boarding-school belle's in a flutter, The twopenny post's in despair; The… — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
Dame Fortune is a fickle gipsy, And always blind, and often tipsy; Sometimes for years and years together, She 'll bless you with the… — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
I think while zealots fast and frown, And fight for two or seven, That there are fifty roads to town, And rather more to… — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
Twelve years ago I made a mock Of filthy trades and traffics; I considered what they meant by stock; I wrote delightful sapphics; I… — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
Still and pale Thou movest in thy silver veil, Queen of the night! the filmy shroud Of many a mild, transparent cloud Hides, yet… — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
Woman! thou loveliest gift that here below Man can receive, or Providence bestow. — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
Of science and logic he chatters, As fine and as fast as he can; Though I am no judge of such matters, I'm sure… — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
Hail, blest Confusion! here are met All tongues, and times, and faces; The Lancers flirt with Juliet, The Brahmin talks of races. — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
The Baptist found him far too deep; The Deist sighed with saving sorrow; And the lean Levite went to sleep, And dreamed of tasting… — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
I think, whatever mortals crave, With impotent endeavor, A wreath--a rank--a throne--a grave-- The world goes round forever; I think that life is not… — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
And oh! I shall find how, day by day, All thoughts and things look older; How the laugh of pleasure grows less gay, And… — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
I remember, I remember how my childhood fleeted by. The mirth of its December, and the warmth of its July. — Winthrop Mackworth Praed Copy Share Image
