Dead lilies, ed. by mrs. Henry Kingsley, Volume 1

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Página 53 - How soft the music of those village bells,' Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet ! now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on ! With easy force it opens all the cells Where Memory slept.
Página 123 - O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day ; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away ! Re-enter PANTHINO.
Página 291 - That even to birds, and beasts, the tender arts Of pleasing teaches. Hence the glossy kind Try every winning way inventive love Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates Pour forth their little souls.
Página 150 - O God ! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea : and, other times, to see The beachy girdle of the ocean Too wide for Neptune's hips...
Página 131 - I am ashamed, that women are so simple To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Página 190 - LOve in her Sunny Eyes does basking play ; Love walks the pleasant Mazes of her Hair ; Love does on both her Lips for ever stray ; And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there.
Página 294 - Time, who changes all, had altered him In soul and aspect as in age : years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb; And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
Página 208 - Beauty ! thou pretty plaything ! dear deceit ! That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart, And gives it a new pulse, unknown before ! The grave discredits thee : thy charms expung'd, Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd, What hast thou more to boast of?
Página 239 - The very first swoln surge shall sweep us in. Think we or think we not, time hurries on With a resistless unremitting stream, Yet treads more soft than e'er did midnight thief That slides his hand under the miser's pillow And carries off his prize.
Página 240 - LOVE.' [The name of this Song is borrowed from a Poem so ealled signed 'Cesario,' In the British Album.] HENCB far from me, ye senseless joys That fade before ye reach the heart,.... The crowded dome's distracted noise, Where all is pomp and useless art ! Give me my home, to quiet dear, Where hours untold and peaceful move; So fate ordain I sometimes there May hear the voice of him I love.

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