Pen Sketches by a Vanished Hand: From the Papers of the Late Mortimer Collins, Volumen2

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R. Bentley and son, 1879
 

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Página 192 - And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
Página 65 - Thames! run softly, till I end my song. Then forth they all out of their baskets drew Great store of flowers, the honour of the field, That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, All which upon those goodly birds they threw And all the waves did strew, That like old Peneus...
Página 91 - Happy the man - and happy he alone He who can call today his own, He who, secure within, can say 'Tomorrow, do thy worst, for I have lived today: Be fair or foul or rain or shine, The joys I have possessed in spite of Fate are mine: Not Heaven itself upon the Past has power, But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.
Página 101 - Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; His daily teachers had been woods and rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
Página 182 - What? - it will be questioned — when the Sun rises do you not see a round Disk of fire somewhat like a guinea? О no, no, I see an innumerable company of the Heavenly Host crying: Holy Holy Holy is the Lord God Almighty...
Página 144 - She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach, Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading: She botanized; I envied each Young blossom in her boudoir fading; She warbled Handel; it was grand; She made the Catalani jealous: She touch'd the organ; I could stand For hours and hours to blow the bellows.
Página 160 - And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn Look forward with hope for to-morrow With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, As the sun-shine or rain may prevail ; And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, With a barn for the use of the flail...
Página 193 - but not before last night. I was walking alone in my garden, there was great stillness among the branches and flowers and more than common sweetness in the air ; I heard a low and pleasant sound, and I knew not whence it came. At last I saw the broad leaf of a flower move, and underneath I saw a procession of creatures of the size and colour of green and gray grasshoppers, bearing a body laid out on a rose leaf, which they buried with songs, and then disappeared. It was a fairy funeral.
Página 112 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Página 182 - When the Sun rises, do you not see a round disk of fire somewhat "like a Guinea?" O no, no, I see an Innumerable company of the Heavenly host crying 'Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty.

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