So the two brothers and their murdered man / Rode past fair Florence.
I think we may class the lawyer in the natural history of monsters.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cooled a long age in the deep-delvid earth…
Love in a hut, with water and a crust, / Is – Love forgive us! – cinders, ashes, dust.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.
Now a soft kiss – Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave A paradise for a sect
Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass / Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;/ And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Turn the key deftly in the oil Ӭd wards, / And seal the hush Ӭd Casket of my Soul.
Aí de quando a paixão é simultaneamente modesta e arrebatada!
Virgin-choir to make delicious moan / Upon the midnight hours.
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow and leaden eyed despairs
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