The grey sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon large and low; And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow, And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.
As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend, And hears one bid the other go, draw breath Freelier outside, ("since all is o'er," he saith, "And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;"):
(Lord Byron, She walks in Beauty, 1-6) Les sanglots longs Des violons De l'automne Blessent mon coeur D'une langueur Monotone.
[2] Bob Dylan uses it in several songs, including the A-strains of You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go and the B-strains of Key West (Philosopher Pirate).
But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, In proving foresight may be vain The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy!
[3] While that my soul repairs to her devotion, Here I intombe my flesh,1 that it betimes May take acquaintance of this heap of dust; To which the blast of deaths incessant motion, Fed with the exhalation of our crimes, Drives all at last.