Charles Lamb

For with G. D., to be absent from the body is sometimes (not to speak profanely) to be present with the Lord.

And half had staggered that stout Stagirite.

As sunshine broken in the rill, Though turned astray, is sunshine still.

'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We 've but to make love to the lips we are near.

When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power.

The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er; And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more.

This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, The past, the future,-two eternities!

Nothing puzzles me more than time and space; and yet nothing troubles me less, as I never think about them.

To live with them is far less sweet Than to remember thee.

To sigh, yet feel no pain; To weep, yet scarce know why; To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by.