In days of yore, the poet's pen
From wing of bird was plundered.
Perhaps of goose, but now and then,
From Jove's own eagle sundered.
But now, metallic pens disclose
Alone the poet's numbers;
In iron inspiration glows,
Or with the poet slumbers. [ John Quincy Adams ]

Whom the gods love die young, was said of yore. [ Byron ]

In days of yore nothing was holy but the beautiful. [ Schiller ]

It is now as in the days of yore when the sword ruled all things. [ Schiller ]

Of yore, they languished, they burned, they died for love; today, they chat about it, they make it, and, more often, they buy it. [ Jouy ]