Sweet violet, and other stories, المجلد 320

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الصفحة 71 - THREE years she grew in sun and shower, Then Nature said, " A lovelier flower On earth was never sown ; This Child I to myself will take, She shall be mine, and I will make A Lady of my own. Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse : and with me The Girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain.
الصفحة 14 - The tear, down Childhood's cheek that flows, Is like the dew-drop on the rose ; When next the summer breeze comes by, And waves the bush, the flower is dry.
الصفحة 173 - I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
الصفحة 269 - Merciful heaven! What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.
الصفحة 82 - It is no wonder," said the lords, " She is more beautiful than day." As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen : One praised her ankles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome mien. So sweet a face, such angel grace, In all that land had never been : Cophetua sware a royal oath : " This beggar maid shall be my queen !
الصفحة 30 - Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.
الصفحة 164 - Son of man, behold, I take away from thee the desire of thine eyes with a stroke: yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep, neither shall thy tears run down.
الصفحة 58 - How poor are they that have not patience ! What wound did ever heal but by degrees ? Thou know'st we work by wit and not by witchcraft, And wit depends on dilatory time.
الصفحة 141 - WE, too, have autumns, when our leaves Drop loosely through the dampened air, When all our good seems bound in sheaves, And we stand reaped and bare. Our seasons have no fixed returns, Without our will they come and go ; At noon our sudden summer burns, Ere sunset all is snow. But each day brings less summer cheer, Crimps more our ineffectual spring, And something earlier every year Our...
الصفحة 58 - Go not, happy day, From the shining fields, Go not, happy day, Till the maiden yields. Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks, And a rose her mouth. When the happy Yes Falters from her lips, Pass and blush the news O'er the blowing ships. Over blowing seas, Over seas at rest, Pass the happy news, Blush it thro...

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