A Reed Shaken with the Wind

Voorkant
Adams, Victor, & Company, 1873 - 286 pagina's
 

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Populaire passages

Pagina 27 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints...
Pagina 26 - The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle.
Pagina 40 - Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
Pagina 63 - And even since, and now, fair Italy ! Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature (') can decree ; Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste ; More rich than other climes' fertility ; Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.
Pagina 121 - BETTER trust all, and be deceived. And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart that if believed Had blessed one's life with true believing.
Pagina 149 - Ah me! for aught that ever I could read. Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But, either it was different in blood; Her.
Pagina 40 - He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.
Pagina 118 - Though they bloom and look gay like the rose; Yet all our fond care to preserve them is vain, Time kills them as fast as he goes. Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty, Since both of them wither and fade; But gain a good name by well doing my duty, This will scent like a rose when I'm dead.
Pagina 225 - The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King. On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope ; Blessings are plentiful and rife, More plentiful than hope.

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