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appeared arms asked beauty become better blue Brown called character City close comes dark deep dream EDITORS eyes face father feel feet figure fire girl give given green half hand head hear heart hills interest James John King knew land laughing leaves less light literary lived looked Magazine mean mind morning nature never night Office once passed perhaps play poet present rest rose Saint seemed seen shadows shows side smile soft soul spirit stand stood story strange street sure sweet tell things thought true turned University volume watch wind wonder writing Yale York
Страница 88 - I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
Страница 350 - I'll not hurt a hair of thy head: — Go, says he, lifting up the sash, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let it escape; — go, poor devil, get thee gone, why should I hurt thee? — This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me.
Страница 281 - You are old,' said the youth, 'and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak - Pray how did you manage to do it?
Страница 349 - I'll not hurt thee, says my uncle Toby, rising from his chair, and going across the room, with the fly in his hand, - I'll not hurt a hair of thy head: - Go...
Страница 297 - FORENOON and afternoon and night, — Forenoon, And afternoon, and night, — Forenoon, and — what ! The empty song repeats itself. No more ? Yea, that is Life : make this forenoon sublime, This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer, And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.
Страница 389 - Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? "When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white, I'll take his hand and go with him To the deep wells of light ; As unto a stream we will step down, And bathe there in God's sight.
Страница 296 - The ill-timed truth we might have kept— Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung? The word we had not sense to say — Who knows how grandly it had rung?
Страница 296 - These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crushing blossoms without end; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heartstrings of a friend. "The ill-timed truth we might have kept — Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung!
Страница 341 - Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place, Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face; And they wonder, as waiting the long years through) In the dust of that little chair, '^ What has become of our Little Boy Blue, Since he kissed them and put them there.