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" mid the general hush, A sweet air lifts the little bough Lone whispering through the bush. The primrose to the grave is gone, The hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the mossed gray stone Hath laid her weary head. "
The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott - Pagina 135
door Ebenezer Elliott - 1840 - 179 pagina’s
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Kerhonah ; The Vernal Walk ; Win Hill: And Other Poems

Ebenezer Elliott - 1835 - 306 pagina’s
...feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are ! How delicate thy gauzy frill ! How rich thy branchy stem ! How soft thy voice, when...hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the moss'd grey stone Hath laid her weary head ; But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring, In all their beateous...
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Elliott's Poems: Kerhonah, The vernal walk, Win hill, and other poems

Ebenezer Elliott - 1835 - 310 pagina’s
...feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are ! How delicate thy gauzy frill ! How rich thy branchy stem ! How soft thy voice, when...hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the moss'd grey stone Hath laid her weary head ; But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring, In all their beateous...
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The Book of Gems: Wordsworth to Bayly

Samuel Carter Hall - 1838 - 348 pagina’s
...feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are ! How delicate thy gauzy frill ! How rich thy branchy stem ! How soft thy voice, when...hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the moss'd grey stone Hath laid her weary head ; But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring, In all their beauteous...
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The Book of Gems: Wordsworth to Bayly

Samuel Carter Hall - 1838 - 412 pagina’s
...all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are ! How delicate thy gauzy frill ! How rich thy branehy stem ! How soft thy voice, when woods are still, And...hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the moss'd grey stone Hath laid her weary head ; But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring, In all their beauteous...
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The Book of Gems: Wordsworth to Bayly

Samuel Carter Hall - 1838 - 336 pagina’s
...slow, And 'mid the general hush, A sweet air lifts the little hough, Lone whispering through the hush ! The primrose to the grave is gone ; The hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet hy the moss'd grey stone Hath laid her weary head ; But thou, wild hramhle ! back dost hring. In all...
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The Book of the Months: And Circle of the Seasons

1844 - 276 pagina’s
...feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are ! How delicate thy gauzy frill ! How rich thy branchy stem ! How soft thy voice, when...hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the moss'd grey stone Hath laid her weary head ; But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring, In all their beauteous...
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Chambers's Miscellany of Useful and ..., Volume 4,Nummer 31 -Volume 6,Nummer 59

William Chambers, Robert Chambers - 1845 - 846 pagina’s
...feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are ! How delicate thy gauzy frill ! How rich thy branchy stem ! How soft thy voice when...; The hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the mossed gray stone Hath laid her weary head ; But thou, wild bramble! hack dost bring, In all their...
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The gift book for the young

Gift book - 1846 - 302 pagina’s
...Thy tender blossoms are ! How delicate thy gauzy frill ! How soft thy voice when woods are still ! The primrose to the grave is gone ; The hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the moss'd gray stone Has laid her weary head ; , But thou, mild bramble ! back dost bring In all their beauteous power,...
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The juvenile museum; or, child's library of amusement and instruction, by ...

George Frederick Pardon - 1840 - 274 pagina’s
...feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are ! How delicate thy gauzy frill ! How rich thy branchy stem ! How soft thy voice when...; The hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the moss gray stone Hath laid her weary head ; But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring, In all their beauteous...
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Spring flowers gathered for young florists, by S.P.

Spring flowers, S. P. - 1849 - 178 pagina’s
...thou sing'st hymns to them ; While silent showers are falling slow, And, 'mid the general hush, A soft air lifts the little bough, Lone whispering through...gone, The hawthorn flower is dead ; The violet by the nioss'd grey stone, Has laid her weary head. But thou, wild bramble ! back dost bring In all their...
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