With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste, In jollity, the day ordain’d to be the last.
And now the rising morn with rosy light Adorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight; When we from far, like bluish mists, descry The hills, and then the plains, of Italy.
If you, a Tyrian, and a stranger born, With walls and tow’rs a Libyan town adorn, Why may not we— like you, a foreign raceLike you, seek shelter in a foreign place?
This prince, from ravish’d Garamantis born, A hundred temples did with spoils adorn, In Ammon’s honor, his celestial sire; A hundred altars fed with wakeful fire; And, thro’ his vast dominions, priests ordain’d, Whose watchful care these holy rites maintain’d.
A milk-white heifer she with flow’rs adorns, And pours the ruddy wine betwixt her horns; And, while the priests with pray’r the gods invoke, She feeds their altars with Sabaean smoke, With hourly care the sacrifice renews, And anxiously the panting entrails views.
Two rising crests, his royal head adorn; Born from a god, himself to godhead born: His sire already signs him for the skies, And marks the seat amidst the deities.
Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn; Of polish’d ivory this, that of transparent horn: True visions thro’ transparent horn arise; Thro’ polish’d ivory pass deluding lies.
The topmost part his glitt’ring arms adorn; Warm waters, then, in brazen caldrons borne, Are pour’d to wash his body, joint by joint, And fragrant oils the stiffen’d limbs anoint.
Besides, if, nine days hence, the rosy morn Shall with unclouded light the skies adorn, That day with solemn sports I mean to grace: Light galleys on the seas shall run a wat’ry race; Some shall in swiftness for the goal contend, And others try the twanging bow to bend; The strong, with iron gauntlets arm’d, shall stand Oppos’d in combat on the yellow sand.
The body on this rural hearse is borne: Strew’d leaves and funeral greens the bier adorn.
Inferior trophies by the chiefs are borne; Gauntlets and helms their loaded hands adorn; And fair inscriptions fix’d, and titles read Of Latian leaders conquer’d by the dead.
But Palmus from behind receives his wound; Hamstring’d he falls, and grovels on the ground: His crest and armor, from his body torn, Thy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head adorn.
Thus two tall oaks, that Padus’ banks adorn, Lift up to heav’n their leafy heads unshorn, And, overpress’d with nature’s heavy load, Dance to the whistling winds, and at each other nod.
Nor Ismarus was wanting to the war, Directing pointed arrows from afar, And death with poison arm’d— in Lydia born, Where plenteous harvests the fat fields adorn; Where proud Pactolus floats the fruitful lands, And leaves a rich manure of golden sands.
…With those who plow Saturnia’s Gabine land; Besides the succor which cold Anien yields, The rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields, Anagnia fat, and Father AmaseneA num’rous rout, but all of naked men: Nor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield, Nor drive the chariot thro’ the dusty field, But whirl from leathern slings huge balls of lead, And spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head; The left foot naked, when they march to fight, But in a bull’s raw hide they sheathe the right.
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Show samples from other sources
He began dating her on her annual two-week visits home, and although she still moved like a thirteen-year-old boy and abjured most feminine adornment, he found something so intensely feminine about her that he fell in love.
Harper Lee -- Go Set a Watchman
Wide silver bands that mark me as a slave adorn each wrist.