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Sonnet Xxxvii: The Love-moon Poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Sonnet Xxxvii: The Love-moon 'When that dead face, bowered in the furthest years, Which once was all the life years held for thee, Can now scarce bid the tides of memory Cast on thy soul a little spray of tears,- How canst thou gaze into these eyes of hers Whom now thy heart delights in, and not see Within each orb Love 's philtred euphrasy
Sonnet XXXVII: The Love-Moon, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Dante Gabriel Rossetti Sonnet XXXVII: The Love-Moon 'When that dead face, bowered in the furthest years, Which once was all the life years held for thee, Can now scarce bid the tides of memory
Sonnet XXXVII - Shakespeares Sonnets Sonnet XXXVII As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth; For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, Or any of these all, or all, or more, Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, I make my love engrafted to this store:
Sonnet XXXVII: The Love-Moon - Dante Gabriel Rossetti - My poetic side Within each orb Love's philtred euphrasy Make them of buried troth remembrancers?” “Nay, pitiful Love, nay, loving Pity! Well Thou knowest that in these twain I have confess'd Two very voices of thy summoning bell Nay, Master, shall not Death make manifest In these the culminant changes which approve The love-moon that must light my soul
Katha Kalp Vriksh: XXXVII: Poem : Love reciprocates Love XXXVII: Poem : Love reciprocates Love ! XXXVII : Tanu valachina Daa valachunu Tanu valavakunna nevadu ta valavadilam Tanaduu Patatopambulu Tana mayalu Panikiravu Dharalo vema !! Telugu Version : తాను వలచిన దా వలచును తాను వలువకున్న నెవడు తా వలవదిలము
Modern Love XXXVII: Along the Garden Terrace - PoetrySoup. com Along the garden terrace, under which A purple valley (lighted at its edge By smoky torch-flame on the long cloud-ledge Whereunder dropped the chariot), glimmers rich, A quiet company we pace, and wait The dinner-bell in prae-digestive calm So sweet up violet banks the Southern balm Breathes round, we care not if the bell be late: Though here and there grey seniors question Time In irritable coughings With slow foot The low rosed moon, the face of Music mute, Begins among her silent bars