Page:Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922).djvu/502

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464
LOUSE
LOVE

LOUSE

1

Ha! Whare ye gaun, ye crawlin' ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze an' lace;
Though faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

BurnsTo a Louse.


LOVE

When love's well-timed 'tis not a fault to love;
The strong, the brave,-the virtuous, and the wise,
Sink in the soft captivity together.

AddisonCato. Act III. Sc. 1.


When love once pleads admission to our hearts,
(In spite of all the virtue we can boast),
The woman that deliberates is lost.

AddisonCato. Act IV. Sc. 1.


Mysterious love, uncertain treasure,
Hast thou more of pain or pleasure!


Endless torments dwell about thee:
Yet who would live, and live without thee!

AddisonRosamond. Act III. Sc. 2.


Che amar chi t'odia, ell'S impossibil cosa.
For 'tis impossible
Hate to return with love.
Alfieri—Polinice. II. 4.
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{{Hoyt quote
 | num =
 | text = <poem>Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours
For one lone soul another lonely soul,
Each choosing each through all the weary hours,
And meeting strangely at one sudden goal,
Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers,
Into one beautiful and perfect whole;
And life's long night is ended, and the way
Lies open onward to eternal day.
Edwin Arnold—Somewhere There Waiteth.


Ma vie a son secret, mon ame a son mystere:
Un amour e'ternel en un moment concu.
La mal est sans remede, aussi j'ai du le taire,
Et elle qui l'a fait n'en a jamais rien su.
One sweet, sad secret holds my heart in thrall;
A mighty love within my breast has grown.
Unseen, unspoken, and of no one known;
And of my sweet, who gave it, least of all.
Felix Arvers—Sonnet. Trans, by Joseph
Knight. In The Atltemvum, Jan. 13, 1906.
Arvers in Mes Hemes Pcrihiea, says that the
sonnet was " mite de l'italien."
 
Ask not of me, love, what is love?
Ask what is good of Ood above;
Ask of the great sun what is light;
Ask what is darkness of the night;
Ask sin of what may be forgiven;
Ask what is hanpiness of heaven;
Ask what is folly of the crowd;
Ask what is fashion of the shroud;
Ask what is sweetness of thy kiss;
Ask of thyself what beauty is.
Bailky—Feslns. |Sc. A Party and Entertainment.
Could I love less, I should be happier now.
Bailey—Festus. Sc. Garden and Bower by the
I cannot love as I have loved,
And yet I know not why;
It is the one great woe of life
To feel all feeling die.
Bailey—Festus. Sc. A Party and Entertainment.


Love spends his all, and still hath store.
Bailey—Festus. Sc. A Party and Entertain?
ment.


The sweetest joy, the wildest woe is love.
Bailey—Festus. Sc. Alcove and Garden.


How many times do I love, again?
Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain
Of evening rain
Unravelled from the trembling main
And threading the eye of a yellow star:—
So many times do I love again.
Thos. Lovell Beddoes—How Many Times.


Mein Herz ich will dich fragen,
Was ist denn Liebe, sag?
"Zwei Seelen und ein Gedanke,
Zwei Herzen und ein Schlag."
My heart I fain would ask thee
What then : s Love? say on.
'Two souls and one thought only
Two hearts that throb as one."
Von Munch BELLTNGHAUSEN(FriedrichHalm)
—Der Sohn der Wildniss. Act II. Trans,
by W. H. Charlton. (Commended by
author.) Popular trans, of the play is by
Marie Lovell—Ingomar the Barbarian.
Two souls with but a single thought,
Two hearts that beat as one.
 | seealso = (See also Du Bartas)
 | topic = Love
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{{Hoyt quote
 | num =
 | text = <poem>To Chloe's breast young Cupid slfly stole,
But he crept in at Myra's pocket-hole.

William BlakeCouplets and Fragments. IV.


Love in a shower safe shelter took,
In a rosy bower beside a brook,
And winked and nodded with conscious pride
To his votaries drenched on the other side.
Come hither, sweet maids, there's a bridge below,
The toll-keeper, Hymen, will let you through.
Come over the stream to me.
Bloomheld—Glee. St. 1.


Love is like fire. * * * Wounds of fire
are hard to bear; harder still are those of love.
Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen—Gunnar. Ch. IV.
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{{Hoyt quote
 | num = 15
 | text = Le premier soupir de l'amour
Est le dernier de la sagesse.
The first sigh of love is the last of wisdom.
Antoine Bret—Ecole amoureiise Sc. 7.


Much ado there was, God wot;
He woold love, and she woold not,
She sayd, "Never man was trewe;"
He sayes, "None was false to you."

Nicholas BretonPhillida and Corydon.