Language
John Milton
The evening star,
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat
There Leviathan
Him there they found
Not that fair field
Sable-vested Night, eldest of things.
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
And when night
A shout that tore hell’s concave, and beyond
So when the sun in bed,
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Hide me from day’s garish eye.
Far from all resort of mirth,
George Meredith
The lark ascending.
Christopher Marlowe
My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,
Stéphane Mallarmé
Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It was the schooner Hesperus,
Dark behind it rose the forest,