Favorite Selections of Julia and Annie Thomas

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E. S. Werner, 1892 - English poetry - 198 pages
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Page 2 - Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.
Page 37 - DOES the road wind up-hill all the way ? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place ? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn.
Page 79 - With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago. In this kingdom by the sea. A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me.
Page 2 - Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice. And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
Page 79 - It was many and many a year ago In a kingdom by the sea That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
Page 1 - And a feeling of sadness conies o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Page 196 - I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things...
Page 49 - Heaven is not reached at a single bound ; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round.
Page 141 - MY soul to-day Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian Bay ; My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swims round the purple peaks remote. Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Where high rocks throw, Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. Far, vague, and dim, The mountains swim ; While on Vesuvius' misty brim, With outstretched hands, The gray smoke stands O'erlooking the voleanic lands.

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