HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON

In the School of Coquettes Madam Rose is a scholar,-O, they fish with all nets In the School of Coquettes! When her brooch she forgets 'Tis to show her new collar; In the School of Coquettes Madam Rose is a scholar!

What ye have been ye still shall be, When we are dust the dust among, O yellow flowers!

Love comes unseen; we only see it go.

Time goes, you say? Ah, no! alas, time stays, we go.

Not as ours the books of old - Things that steam can stamp and fold; Not as ours the books of yore - Rows of type, and nothing more.

All passes, Art alone Enduring stays to us; The Bust out-lasts the throne,-- The coin, Tiberius.

All the seasons run their race In this quiet resting-place; Peach, and apricot, and fig Here will ripen, and grow big; Here is store and overplus - More had not Alcinous!

Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour - let no night Seal thy sense in deathly slumber Till to delight Thou hast paid thy utmost blessing.

I intended an Ode, And it turned to a Sonnet.

I intended an Ode, And it turned to a Sonnet.

Time goes, you say? Ah, no! alas, time stays, we go.

Not as ours the books of old - Things that steam can stamp and fold; Not as ours the books of yore - Rows of type, and nothing more.

What ye have been ye still shall be, When we are dust the dust among, O yellow flowers!

Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour - let no night Seal thy sense in deathly slumber Till to delight Thou hast paid thy utmost blessing.

Love comes unseen; we only see it go.

All passes, Art alone Enduring stays to us; The Bust out-lasts the throne,-- The coin, Tiberius.

All the seasons run their race In this quiet resting-place; Peach, and apricot, and fig Here will ripen, and grow big; Here is store and overplus - More had not Alcinous!

Fame is a food that dead men eat, I have no stomach for such meat.

The ladies of St. James's! They're painted to the eyes; Their white is stays for ever, Their red it never dies; But Phyllida, my Phillida! Her colour comes and goes; It trembles to a lily,-- It wavers to a rose.

In the School of Coquettes Madam Rose is a scholar,-O, they fish with all nets In the School of Coquettes! When her brooch she forgets 'Tis to show her new collar; In the School of Coquettes Madam Rose is a scholar!