Author: Henry David Thoreau (---.spacegate.com.ua)
Date: 01-22-06 16:09
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Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head;
Ere beauty\'s dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself and true,
Making no summer of another\'s green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.
Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your
Marcus Aurelius 121-80 AD, Roman Emperor, Philosopher
Republicans believe every day is the Fourth of July, but the democrats
believe every day is April 15.
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know\'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan;
To say they err I dare not be so bold,
Although I swear it to myself alone.
And to be sure that is not false I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,
One on another\'s neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgment\'s place.
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.