"Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done. Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages— Golden lads and girls all must Like chimney-sweepers come to dust." —_Shakespeare._
"One day, it matters not to know How many hundred years ago, A Spaniard stopt at a posada door; The landlord came to welcome him and chat Of this and that, For he had seen the traveller here before." —_Southey_, _St Romuald_.
"And wash'd by my cosmetic brush, How Beauty's cheeks began to blush With locks of auburn stain— Not Goldsmith's Auburn, nut-brown hair That made her loveliest of the fair, Not loveliest of the plain." —_Hood_, _Progress of Art_.
"Some watch, some call, some see her head emerge Wherever a brown weed falls through the foam; Some point to white eruptions of the surge— But she is vanish'd to her shady home, Under the deep inscrutable, and there Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair." —_Hood_, _Hero and Leander_.
"Ever drifting, drifting, drifting, On the shifting Currents of the restless heart— Till at length in books recorded, They like hoarded Household words no more depart." —_Longfellow_, _Seaweed_.
"Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines; Abroad their fanlike branches grew, And where the sunshine darted through, Spread a vapour, soft and blue, In long and sloping lines." —_Longfellow_, _Prelude_.
The following form may be looked upon as Burns's exclusively:—
"Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower,— Thou'st met me in an evil hour, For I maun crush among the stour Thy slender stem; To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem." —_To a Mountain Daisy._
This form is not very common. It may be formed of a quatrain and triplet; of a quatrain, a line rhyming the last of the quatrain, and a couplet; of a quatrain, a couplet, and a line rhyming the fourth line. Or these may be reversed.
This is susceptible of endless variety, commencing with two quatrains, or a six-line stanza and a couplet, or two triplets with a brace of rhyming lines, one after each triplet.
"Thus lived—thus died she; nevermore on her Shall sorrow light or shame. She was not made Through years or moons the inner weight to bear, Which colder hearts endure till they are laid By age in earth; her days and pleasures were Brief but delightful; such as had not staid Long with her destiny. But she sleeps well By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell." —_Byron_, _Don Juan_.