For this iteration, I'm gonna pull first lines at random out of my lovely, 1933 anthology of the Victorians, bless 'em...
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Futility
[i]Late, my Grandson! half the morning have I paced these sandy tracts;
and I tell you now, I'm failing in my search for amphibrachs.
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On Eratosphere
It is a place where poets crowned may feel the heart's decaying,
where unkempt masses gather 'round to watch the public flaying...
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Admittedly, not "famous" first lines, but real ones for sure.
(robt)
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