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COMBINATIONS OF VERSES.
So every spirit as it is moat pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light,
So it the fairer body doth procure To habit it, and is more fairly dight With cheerful grace and amiable sight;
For of the soul the body form doth take
For soul is form and doth the body make.
Awake, awake my lyre ! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail— Sounds that gentle thought inspire; Though so exalted she And I so lowly be, fell her such different notes make all thy harmony.
Cowley. " The Lover to his Lyre."
Oh, what a dawn of day ! How the March sun feels like May! All is blue again, After last night's rain, And the south dries the hawthorn spray—
Only, my love's away ! I'd as lief that the blue were grey.
R. Browning. " A Lover's Quarrel."
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
In the morning gleam as the tide went down ; And the women were weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come back to the town. For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.
Kingsley. " The Three Fishers."