Favorite Flies and Their Histories (Google eBook)

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1892 - Fishing - 522 pages
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Favorite Flies and Their Histories

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Marbury is the daughter of Charles Orvis, founder of the famous fly-fishing tackle company that is still a leading name in top-quality gear. In 1890, Marbury solicited information from seasoned ... Read full review

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Page 198 - Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Page 116 - THE poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead ; That is the Grasshopper's he takes the lead In summer luxury, he has never done With his delights; for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth...
Page 502 - To-day I saw the dragon-fly Come from the wells where he did lie. "An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk : from head to tail Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. "He dried his wings: like gauze they grew: Thro' crofts and pastures wet with dew A living flash of light he flew.
Page 505 - Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes: Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro...
Page 116 - With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass; O, sweet and tiny cousins!
Page 314 - ... lane, And all that tore their locks of black, Or wet their eyes of blue, Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid, What did poor Katy do ? Ah no ! the living oak shall crash, That stood for ages still, The rock shall rend its mossy base And thunder down the hill, Before the little Katydid Shall add one word, to tell The mystic story of the maid Whose name she knows so well.
Page 510 - Yon rising Moon that looks for us again How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; How oft hereafter rising look for us Through this same Garden and for one in vain!
Page 301 - The dews of boyhood's morning. The dews that washed the dust and soil From off the wings of pleasure, The sky, that flecked the ground of toil With golden threads of leisure.
Page 461 - Therefore the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature : The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted.
Page 505 - While all things else have rest from weariness ? All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown: Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings, Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm; Nor hearken what the inner spirit sings,

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