...borne Î Hark ye : ' When lofty trees I see barren of leave?, Which erst from heat Hid canopy the head, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly head.' He has left nothing to say about nothing or any thing. 'And as the snail, whose tender horns...

...print more, nor let that copy die. XII. When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the...do I question make, That thou among the wastes of tune must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, And die as fast as they see others grow;...

...print more, nor let that copy die. , XII. 1 When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the...sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white ; * When young:. f Dost depart, t /. e. to be preserved for use. § (Thou). When lofty trees I see barren of...

...shouldst print more, nor let that copy die. XH. When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls, alla silver'd o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy...

...among ourselves ? Before deciding too peremptorily, recall Shakspeare's lines — " TVhen I behold The summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ;'' and still more remarkably in a cognate subject-matter. There may be sermons in stones, and good...

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...shouldst print more, nor let that copy die. When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls, all a silver'd o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy...

...print more, nor let that copy die. XII. When I do count the clock that tells the time. And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ; When I behold the...beard ; — Then of thy beauty do I question make, That.thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, And die...

...though it would not contend with the common herd of birds any longer. And here is tho other picture : " Summer's green all girded up in sheaves Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard." — Sonnet 12. And be it remembered that all these scenes are not bits of mere description, but are...

...in pensive imagery.: — " When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day hung in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls, all silvered o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy...