TELL me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.
It is engender’d in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and Fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let us all ring Fancy’s knell:
I’ll begin it,–Ding, dong, bell.
All. Ding, dong, bell.
Similar Posts
Sonnet 89: Say That Thou Didst Forsake Me For Some Fault by William Shakespeare
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,And I will comment upon that offence;Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,Against thy reasons making no defence.Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,To set a form upon desirèd change,As I’ll my self disgrace, knowing thy will,I will acquaintance strangle and look strange,Be…
The Tuft Of Flowers – Poem by Robert Frost
I went to turn the grass once after oneWho mowed it in the dew before the sun. The dew was gone that made his blade so keenBefore I came to view the levelled scene. I looked for him behind an isle of trees;I listened for his whetstone on the breeze. But he had gone his…
Sonnet Xxx: When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought by William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear times’ waste;Then can I drown an eye, unus’d to flow,For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,And moan…
Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath stell’d
My body is the frame wherein ’tis held,And perspective it is the painter’s art.For through the painter must you see his skill,To find where your true image pictured lies;Which in my bosom’s shop is hanging still,That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:Mine eyes have drawn…
Sonnet Cxviii by William Shakespeare
Like as, to make our appetites more keen,With eager compounds we our palate urge,As, to prevent our maladies unseen,We sicken to shun sickness when we purge,Even so, being tuff of your ne’er-cloying sweetness,To bitter sauces did I frame my feedingAnd, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetnessTo be diseased ere that there was true…
How careful was I, when I took my way,
That to my use it might unused stayFrom hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest grief,Thou, best of dearest and mine only care,Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.Thee have I not lock’d up in any chest,Save where thou art…