| dbp:text
|
- Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, (en)
- I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, (en)
- Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea. (en)
- Emptied of its poetry. (en)
- Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey; (en)
- Let the Irish vessel lie, (en)
- The great man down, you mark his favourite flies; (en)
- The poor advanced makes friends of enemies. (en)
- Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind... (en)
|