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(14 March 1844 – 30 January 1881 / London)

Quotations

  • ''We, in the ages lying
    In the buried past of the earth,
    Built Nineveh with our sighing,
    And Babel itself with our mirth;''
    Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy (1844-1881), British poet. Ode (l. 17-20). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
    15 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • ''For each age is a dream that is dying,
    Or one that is coming to birth.''
    Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy (1844-1881), British poet. Ode (l. 23-24). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
  • ''We are the music-makers,
    And we are the dreamers of dreams,
    Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
    And sitting by desolate streams;
    World-losers and world-forsakers,
    On whom the pale moon gleams:''
    Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy (1844-1881), British poet. Ode (l. 1-6). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
  • ''With wonderful deathless ditties
    We build up the world's great cities,''
    Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy (1844-1881), British poet. Ode (l. 9-10). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
  • ''One man with a dream, at pleasure,
    Shall go forth and conquer a crown;''
    Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy (1844-1881), British poet. Ode (l. 13-14). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.

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Barcarolle

The stars are dimly seen among the shadows of the bay,
And lights that win are seen in strife with lights that die away.

The wave is very still -- the rudder loosens in our hand,
The zephyr will not fill our sail and waft us to the land;
O precious is the pause between the winds that come and go,
And sweet the silence of the shores between the ebb and flow.

No sound but sound of rest is on the bosom of the deep,

[Hata Bildir]