. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. Mercy William Shakespeare {Horn April 23 (?), 1564; Died April 23,1616) The quality of mercy is not strained ; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest,— It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown: His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, WTherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this, sceptred sway,— It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. Mercy William Shakespeare {Horn April 23 (?), 1564; Died April 23,1616) The quality of mercy is not strained ; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest,— It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown: His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, WTherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this, sceptred sway,— It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest Gods, When mercy seasons justice. From Merchant of Venice. Page Fifty-three ©ne jHtttthreh anh ©ne ^fnmtnxs ^tcems. The Opening of thePiano Oliver Wendell Holmes (Born August 29, 1809; Died October 7,1894) In the little southern parlor of the house you may have seen With the gambrel-roof, and the gable looking westward tothe green, At the side toward the sunset, with the window on its right. Stood the London-made piano I am dreaming of tonight! Ah me! how 1 remember the evening when it came! What a cry of eager voices, what a group of cheeks in flame, When the wondrous box was opened that had come from over seas,With its smell of mastic-varnish and its flash of ivorv kevs! Then the children all grew fretful in the restlessness of joy:For the boy would push his sister, and the sister crowd the boy,Till the father asked for quiet in his grave paternal way,But the mother hushed the tumult with the words, Now, Mary, play. For the dear soul knew that music was a very so\ereign balm;She had sprinkled it over Sorrow and seen its brow grow calm,In the days of tender harpsichords with tapping tinkling quill
Size: 1398px × 1788px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, booksubjectenglishpoetry, bookye
