Familiar garden flowers, figured by F.E. Hulme, and described by S. Hibberd, Том 1

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Страница 11 - FLOWER in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower — but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.
Страница 85 - Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither; still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, Nor have the golden bowers of Even In the rich West begun to wither; When, o'er the vale of BALBEC winging Slowly, she sees a child at play, Among the rosy wild flow'rs singing, As rosy and as wild as they ; Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, The beautiful blue damsel-flies...
Страница 152 - I, ike thee it bloomed and fell, In momentary pity sent Of fairer climes to tell ; So frail its form, so short its stay, That nought the lingering heart could say, But, hail, and fare thee well ! Constable's Edinburgh Magatnne.
Страница 117 - BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. I NEVER see a young hand hold The starry bunch of white and gold, But something warm and fresh will start About the region of my heart. My smile expires into a sigh ; I feel a struggling in the eye, 'Twixt humid drop and sparkling ray, Till rolling tears have won their way ; For soul and brain will travel back Through memory's chequered mazes, To days when I but trod life's track For buttercups and daisies.
Страница i - Where does the wisdom and the power divine In a more bright and sweet reflection shine ? Where do we finer strokes and colours see Of the Creator's real poetry, Than when we with attention look Upon the third day's volume of the book ? If we could open and intend our eye, We all, like Moses, should espy Ev'n in a bush the radiant Deity.
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Страница xvi - I will not praise the often-flattered rose, Or, virgin-like, with blushing charms half seen, Or when, in dazzling splendour, like a queen, All her magnificence of state she shows ; No, nor that nun-like lily which but blows Beneath the valley's cool and shady screen, Nor yet the sun-flower, that, with warrior mien, Still eyes the orb of glory where it glows ; But thou, neglected wallflower ! to my breast And muse art dearest, wildest, sweetest flower!

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