Passion-flowers

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Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1854 - American poetry - 187 pages
 

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Page 199 - With fine plates. Just out. Price 75 cents. AUNT EFFIE'S RHYMES. With beautiful Engravings. Just published. 75 cents. * ELIZA BUCKMINSTER LEE. FLORENCE, THE PARISH ORPHAN ; and A SKETCH OF THE VILLAGE IN THE LAST CENTURY.
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Page 106 - I'm slow and difficult of speech; With others I may guide the car of talk: Thou wing'st it oft to realms beyond my reach. If other guests should come, I'd deck my hair And choose my newest garment from the shelf: When thou art bidden, I would clothe my heart With holiest purpose, as for God himself. For them I while the hours with tale or song Or web of fancy fringed with...
Page 36 - None doubt the grandeur she has seen ; Upon her venerable front Is written : ' I was born a Queen ! ' She rules the age by Beauty's power, As once she ruled by armed might ; The Southern sun doth treasure her Deep in his golden heart of light. Awe strikes the traveller when he sees The vision of her distant dome, And a strange spasm wrings his heart As the guide whispers :
Page 14 - Fell, as a star falls, trailing sound for light ; And, ere its thread of melody was broken, From the serene sprang other sounds, its fellows, That fluttered back celestial welcoming. Astonished, penetrate, too past myself To know I sinned in speaking, where a breath Less exquisite was sacrilege, my lips Gave passage to one cry : God ! what is that ? • (Oh ! not to know what has no peer on earth !) And one, not distant, stooped to me and said : 'If ever thou recall thy friend afar, Let him but be...
Page 152 - Towards the free, the sunny lands, From the chaos of existence I stretch these feeble hands; And, penitential, kneeling. Pray God would not be wroth, Who gave not the strength of feeling, And strength of labor both.
Page 152 - Than than that I bore by birth, And I've given life to children Who'll grow and dwell on earth; But the time comes swiftly towards me (Nor do I bid it stay), When the dead Christ, will be more to me Than all I hold to-day. Lay the dead Christ beside me, Oh, press him on my heart, I would hold him long and painfully Till the weary tears should start; Till the. divine contagion Heal me of self and sin. And the cold weight press wholly down The pulse that.chokes within.
Page 106 - I'd deck my hair, And choose my newest garment from the shelf; When thou art bidden, I would clothe my heart With holiest purpose, as for God himself. For them I while the hours with tale or song, Or web of fancy, fringed with careless rhyme ; But how to find a fitting lay for thee, Who hast the harmonies of every time...

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