My garden in the City of gardens: a memory ... (Google eBook)

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John Lane, 1905 - India - 286 pages
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Page 1 - A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot! Rose plot, Fringed pool, Ferned grot The veriest school Of peace; and yet the fool Contends that God is not Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool? Nay, but I have a sign: Tis very sure God walks in mine.
Page 177 - Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; Blow upon my garden, That the spices thereof may flow out.
Page 169 - A young friend urged her, soon afterwards, to go with her to a fashionable concert, reminding her that she had received from Malta, sent by her husband, a handsome dresscloak, which she had never yet worn. But she positively declined, declaring that, uncertain as she was whether she was not already a widow, she would never enter a place of amusement until she had letters from her husband (if, indeed, he still lived) of later date than the 14th of November.
Page 172 - I have neglected no precaution, therefore, to obtain for it the warrant of authenticity. It is, perhaps, the only example on record where the appearance of what is usually termed a ghost proved the means of correcting an erroneous date in the despatches of a commander-in-chief, and of detecting an inaccuracy in the certificate of a War Office.
Page 205 - The Koil is come who leads the Spring: The buds that were sleeping his voice have heard, And the tale is borne on by each nesting bird. The trees of the forest have all been told; They have donned their mantles of scarlet and gold ; To welcome him back they are bravely dressed, But he loves the blossoming mango best.
Page 126 - Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge! God pity them both! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been...
Page 168 - Her first idea was to ascertain if she was actually awake. She rubbed her eyes with the sheet, and felt that the touch was real. Her little nephew was in bed with her : she bent over the sleeping child, and listened to its breathing; the sound was distinct; and she became convinced that what she had seen was no dream. It need hardly be added that she did not go to sleep again that night.
Page 135 - MARK how the bashful morn in vain Courts the amorous marigold, With sighing blasts and weeping rain, Yet she refuses to unfold. But when the planet of the day Approacheth with his powerful ray, Then she spreads, then she receives His warmer beams into her virgin leaves...
Page 293 - XI. THE BOOK OF PEARS AND PLUMS. By the Rev. E. BARTRUM, DD XII.
Page 168 - ... was that of great excitement, and there was a peculiar contraction of the mouth, habitual to him when agitated. She saw him even to each minute particular of his dress, as distinctly as she had ever done in her life, and she remembers to have noticed between his hands the white of his shirt bosom, unstained, however, with blood.

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