Those evening bells

Th. Moore

Those evening bells. Those evening bells

How many a tale their music tells,

Of love, and home, and that sweet time,

When last I heard their soothing chime.

Those joyous hours are passed away

And many a heart that then was gay

Within the tomb now darkly dwells

And hears no more those evening bells.

And so twill be when I am gone.

That tuneful peal wilt still ring on,

While other bards shall walk these dells.

And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.

A madrigal

W. Shakespeare

Crabbed age and youth

Cannot live together:

Youth is full of pleasance,

Age is full of care;

Youth like summer morn,

Age like winter weather,

Youth like summer morn,

Age like winter bare:

Youth is full of sport.

Age's breath is short,

Youth is nimble, Age is lame:

Youth is hot and bold.

Age is weak and cold,

Youth is wild and Age is tame: -

Age, I do abhore thee,

Youth, I do adore thee:

O my Love, my Love is young,

Age, I do defy thee - .

Twilight

G.G.Byron

It is the hour when from the boughs

The nightingale's high note is heard;

It is the hour when lover's vows

Seem sweet in every whispered word;

And gentle winds and waters near,

Make music to the lovely ear.

Each flower the dews have lightly wet.

And in the sky the stars are met,

And on the wave is deeper blue,

And on the leaf a browner hue,

And in the heaven that clear obscure.

So softly dark, and darkly pure,

Which follows the decline of day,

As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

Oscar wilde

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,

By each let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look,

Some with the flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with a sword.

Some kill their love they are young,

And some when they are old:

Some strangle with the hands of Lust,

Some with the hands of Gold:

The kindest use a knife, because

The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,

Some sell, and other buy;

Some do the deed with many tears,

And some without sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves,

Yet each man does not die.

Sonnet 116

W. Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's Fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no

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