Shall watch the heavens yearn down and the strange starlight gleam.
R. Buchanan (The City of Man).
This is the poet’s vision of the city of the future, and will be interesting to the allotment-holders in English cities to-day.
Dear dead women, with such hair, too—what’s become of all the gold
Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old.
R. Browning (A Toccata of Galuppi’s).
Quand on n’a pas ce que l’on aime,