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Browsing named entities in Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Afternoon landscape: poems and translations. You can also browse the collection for Cleopatra or search for Cleopatra in all documents.
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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Afternoon landscape: poems and translations, chapter 10 (search)
Since Cleopatra died.
Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonor that the world Doth wonder at my baseness. Shakespeare. “Since Cleopatra died!” Long years are past, In Antony's fancy, since the deed was done. Love counts its epochsCleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonor that the world Doth wonder at my baseness. Shakespeare. “Since Cleopatra died!” Long years are past, In Antony's fancy, since the deed was done. Love counts its epochs, not from sun to sun, But by the heart-throb.
Mercilessly fast Time has swept onward since she looked her last On life, a queen.
For him the sands have run Whole ages through their glass, and kings have won And lost their empires o'er earth's surCleopatra died!” Long years are past, In Antony's fancy, since the deed was done. Love counts its epochs, not from sun to sun, But by the heart-throb.
Mercilessly fast Time has swept onward since she looked her last On life, a queen.
For him the sands have run Whole ages through their glass, and kings have won And lost their empires o'er earth's surface vast Since Cleopatra died.
Ah! Love and Pain Make their own measure of all things that be. No clock's slow ticking marks their deathless strain; The life they own is not the life we see; Love's single moment is eternity: Eternity, a thought inCleopatra died.
Ah! Love and Pain Make their own measure of all things that be. No clock's slow ticking marks their deathless strain; The life they own is not the life we see; Love's single moment is eternity: Eternity, a thought in Shakspear
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Afternoon landscape: poems and translations, To the memory of H. H. (search)
To the memory of H. H. O soul of fire within a woman's clay! Lifting with slender hands a race's wrong, Whose mute appeal hushed all thine early song, And taught thy passionate heart the loftier way,--What shall thy place be in the realm of day? What disembodied world can hold thee long, Binding thy turbulent pulse with spell more strong? Dwell'st thou, with wit and jest, where poets may, Or with ethereal women (born of air And poet's dreams) dost live in ecstasy, Teach new love-thoughts to Shakespeare's Juliet fair, New moods to Cleopatra?
Then, set free, The woes of Shelley's Helen thou dost share, Or weep with poor Rossetti's Rose Mary.