Wet Days at Edgewood: With Old Farmers, Old Gardeners, and Old Pastorals

C. Scribner, 1865 - 324 pagina's

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Pagina 246 - The mingling notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school, The watchdog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; — These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
Pagina 260 - Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign; Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary!
Pagina 177 - But rather to tell how, if Art could tell How, from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, With mazy error under pendent shades Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed 240 Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain...
Pagina 280 - WHAT change has made the pastures sweet And reached the daisies at my feet, And cloud that wears a golden hem ? This lovely world, the hills, the sward — They all look fresh, as if our Lord But yesterday had finished them. And...
Pagina 321 - Tis nature, full of spirits, waked and springing ; The birds to the delicious time are singing, Darting with freaks and snatches up and down, Where the light woods go seaward from the town ; While happy faces, striking through the green Of leafy roads, at every turn are seen ; And the far ships, lifting their sails of white Like joyful hands, come up with scattery light, Come gleaming up, true to the wished-for day, And chase the whistling brine, and swirl into the bay.
Pagina 90 - THE beautiful spring delights me well, When flowers and leaves are growing ; And it pleases my heart to hear the swell Of the birds' sweet chorus flowing, In the echoing wood ; And I love to see, all scattered around, Pavilions and tents on the martial ground ; And my spirit finds it good To see, on the level plains beyond, Gay knights and steeds caparison'd.
Pagina 13 - With deeper red the full pomegranate glows, The branch here bends beneath the weighty pear, And verdant olives flourish round the year. The balmy spirit of the western gale Eternal breathes on fruits untaught to fail : Each dropping pear a following pear supplies, On apples apples, figs on figs arise : The same mild season gives the blooms to blow, The buds to harden, and the fruits to grow.
Pagina 308 - Streets, streets, streets, markets, theatres, churches, Covent Gardens, shops sparkling with pretty faces of industrious milliners, neat sempstresses, ladies cheapening, gentlemen behind counters lying, authors in the street with spectacles, George Dyers (you may know them by their gait), lamps lit at night, pastrycooks...
Pagina 138 - Tusser, they tell me, when thou wert alive Thou, teaching thrift, thyself could'st never thrive: So, like the whetstone, many men are wont, To sharpen others, when themselves are blunt.
Pagina 320 - WITHIN a thick and spreading hawthorn bush That overhung a molehill, large and round, I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush Sing hymns...

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