The Scrap Book, Band 3

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Frank A. Munsey Company, 1907
 

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Seite 169 - His dews drop mutely on the hill, His cloud above it saileth still, Though on its slope men sow and reap : More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Seite 187 - What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labour of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.
Seite 481 - The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves. And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives ; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — In the nice ear of nature which song is the best...
Seite 427 - THE SEA. The Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea ! The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round ; It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; Or like a cradled creature lies.
Seite 321 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
Seite 209 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone ; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone ! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle ; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile.
Seite 440 - It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the next county to him. Before 'this disappointment, Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully Dawson in a public coffee-house for calling him youngster.
Seite 440 - His tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all the young women profess love to him, and the young men are glad of his company.
Seite 533 - I never more shall see my own, my native land; Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine, For I was born at Bingen — at Bingen on the Rhine. "Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun. "And 'mid the dead and dying...
Seite 235 - From coral rocks the sea-plants lift Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow : The water is calm and still below, For the winds and waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air.

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