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More from Edward George Earl Bulwer-Lytton

The brilliant chief, irregularly great,
Frank, haughty, rash,–the Rupert of debate!

The New Timon. (1846). Part i.

Alone!-that worn-out word,
So idly spoken, and so coldly heard;
Yet all that poets sing and grief hath known
Of hopes laid waste, knells in that word ALONE!

Two lives that once part are as ships that divide
When, moment on moment, there rushes between
The one and the other a sea;
Ah, never can fall from the days that have been
A gleam on the years that shall be!

A Lament.

Memory, no less than hope, owes its charm to “the far away.”

A Lament.

When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;
Bend on me then thy tender eyes,
As stars look on the sea.

When Stars are in the quiet Skies.