Oh, ever thus, from childhood's hour, I 've seen my fondest hopes decay I never loved a tree or flower But 't was the first to fade away. I never nurs'd a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well And love me, it was sure to die. (Charles Lamb)

Oh, ever thus, from childhood's hour, I 've seen my fondest hopes decay I never loved a tree or flower But 't was the first to fade away. I never nurs'd a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well And love me, it was sure to die.

Charles Lamb

Related topics

black came dear die eye flower gazelle glad hour seen soft sure thus well

Related quotes

Aaron and I will be joined at the hip until the day we die. We have loved and hated each other since the day he was born. He's very much a part of my heart. He's going to broadcasting college now, and he'll do fine. But he came into a world that did not welcome him.

Lynn Johnston

I asked a thief to steal me a peach He turned up his eyes. I asked a lithe lady to lie her down Holy and meek, she cries. As soon as I went An angel came. He winked at the thief And smiled at the dame And without one word spoke Had a peach from the tree, And twixt earnest and joke Enjoyed the lady.

William Blake

I am not sure exactly what heaven will be like, but I don't know that when we die and it comes time for God to judge us, he will NOT ask, How many good things have you done in your life, rather he will ask, How much LOVE did you put into what you did.

Mother Teresa

Never seek to tell thy love Love that never told can be For the gentle wind does move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears Ah, she doth depart. Soon as she was gone from me A traveler came by Silently, invisibly He took her with a sigh.

William Blake

I like to see flowers growing, but when they are gathered, they cease to please. I look on them as things rootless and perishable; their likeness to life makes me sad. I never offer flowers to those I love; I never wish to receive them from hands dear to me.

Charlotte Brontë