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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 815

Sir Edmund William Gosse. (1849–1928) (continued)
    The Past is like a funeral gone by,
The Future comes like an unwelcome guest.
          Sonnet. May-Day.
    Where are the cities of old time?
          The Ballade of dead Cities.
    If I could read you like a book
  Or like a wizard’s glass of old
I might discover why you look so cold.
          The Cast.
Austin Dobson. (1840–1921)
    The ladies of St. James’s!
  They’re painted to the eyes;
Their white it stays forever
  Their red it never dies:
But Phillida, my Phillida!
  Her color comes and goes;
It trembles to a lily,—
  It wavers to a rose.
          At the Sign of the Lyre.
Thomas Hardy. (1840–1928)
    When false things are brought low,
And swift things have grown slow,
Feigning like froth shall go,
      Faith be for aye.
          Between us now.
    Whence comes solace? Not from seeing,
What is doing, suffering, being;
Not from noting Life’s conditions,
Not from heeding Time’s monitions;
  But in cleaving to the Dream
  And in gazing at the Gleam
  Whereby gray things golden seem.
          On a fine Morning.