But the sunshine aye shall light the sky,

As round and round we run;

And the truth shall ever come uppermost,

And justice shall be done.

Charles Mackay (1814-1889): Eternal Justice. Stanza 4.

Let us weep in our darkness, but weep not for him!

Not for him who, departing, leaves millions in tears!

Not for him who has died full of honor and years!

Not for him who ascended Fame's ladder so high

From the round at the top he has stepped to the sky.

Nathaniel P Willis (1817-1867): The Death of Harrison.

'T is a common proof,

That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,

Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;

But when he once attains the upmost round,

He then unto the ladder turns his back,

Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees

By which he did ascend.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Julius Caesar. Act ii. Sc. 1.

The stars of midnight shall be dear

To her; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where rivulets dance their wayward round,

And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Three years she grew in Sun and Shower.

A little round, fat, oily man of God.

James Thomson (1700-1748): The Castle of Indolence. Canto i. Stanza 69.

On Fame's eternal camping-ground

Their silent tents are spread,

And Glory guards with solemn round

The bivouac of the dead.

Theodore O'Hara (1820-1867): The Bivouac of the Dead. (August, 1847.)

But from the hoop's bewitching round,

Her very shoe has power to wound.

Edward Moore (1712-1757): The Spider and the Bee. Fable x.

Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,

Where'er his stages may have been,

May sigh to think he still has found

The warmest welcome at an inn.

William Shenstone (1714-1763): Written on a Window of an Inn.

Hands promiscuously applied,

Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Waltz.

Straight down the crooked lane,

And all round the square.

Thomas Hood (1798-1845): A Plain Direction.

The trivial round, the common task,

Would furnish all we ought to ask.

John Keble (1792-1866): Morning.

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,

My very noble and approv'd good masters,

That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,

It is most true; true, I have married her:

The very head and front of my offending

Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,

And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace:

For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used

Their dearest action in the tented field,

And little of this great world can I speak,

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle,

And therefore little shall I grace my cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver

Of my whole course of love.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Othello. Act i. Sc. 3.

I 'll charm the air to give a sound,

While you perform your antic round.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Round-heads and wooden-shoes are standing jokes.

Joseph Addison (1672-1719): Prologue to The Drummer.