Souls made for glory seek a brutal joy; How they disclaim their heavenly birth, Melt their bright substance down to Drossy earth, And hate to be refined from that impure alloy.
"Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets, Vol. 3"
George Gilfillan
And from thy star there passed repeated flashes across the head of the tadpole, till his brilliance was as 'twere severed from him, and he, like Drossy silver, a dead shape in the conspicuous heavens.
"The Shaving of Shagpat, Complete"
George Meredith
Not so the world weighed, busily Pursuing Drossy industry; But, saturated with success, Well-guarded by a soft excess Of bodily ease, gave little heed To him that held not by their creed, Save o'er the beauteous youth to moan: "A pity that he is not grown To our good stature and heavier weight, To bear his share of our full freight."
"Rose and Roof-Tree Poems"
George Parsons Lathrop