Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining.
In love, unlike most other passions, the recollection of what you have had and lost is always better than what you can hope for in the future.
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry.
Every lover's lament has an element of boasting.
good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete? What! hath some wolfe thy tender lambes ytorne? Or is thy bagpype broke, that soundes so sweete? Or art thou of thy loved lasse forlorne?
When delicate and feeling souls are separated, there is not a feature in the sky, not a movement of the elements, not an aspiration of the breeze, but hints some cause for a lover's apprehension.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines...Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.
In thy youth wast as true a lover, As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow
The cowboy music twanged in the roadhouse and carried across the fields, all sadness. It was all right with me. I kissed my baby and we put out the lights.
The tune was sad, as the best of Ireland was, melancholy and lovely as a lover's tears.
