Phyllis: A Novel

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Smith, Elder, 1885 - 399 pages
 

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Page 383 - We love, we droop, we die! Ah ! wherefore do we laugh , or weep ? Why do we live, or die? Who knows that secret deep? — Alas, not I! Why doth the violet spring Unseen by human eye? Why do the radiant seasons bring Sweet thoughts that quickly fly? Why do our fond hearts cling To things that die? We toil — through pain and wrong; We fight, and fly; We love , we lose — and then , ere long, Stone-dead we lie. O life ! is all thy song "Endure and — die?
Page 399 - All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured,
Page 259 - I gallop'd on my palfrey white as milk, My robe was of the .sea-green woof, my serk was of the silk; My hair was golden yellow, and it floated to my shoe, My eyes were like two harebells bathed in little drops of dew; My palfrey, never stopping, made a music sweetly blent With the leaves of autumn dropping all around me as I went; And I heard the bells, grown fainter, far behind me peal and play, Fainter, fainter, fainter, fainter, till they...
Page 387 - Burden ALONG the grass sweet airs are blown Our way this day in Spring. Of all the songs that we have known Now which one shall we sing? Not that, my love, ah no! — Not this, my love? why, so! — Yet both were ours, but hours will come and go. The grove is all a pale frail mist, The new year sucks the sun. Of all the kisses that we kissed Now which shall be the one? Not that, my love, ah no! — Not this, my love? — heigh-ho For all the sweets that...
Page 350 - For the world, I count it not an inn, but an hospital ; and a place not to live, but to die in. The world that I regard is myself; it is the microcosm of my own frame that I cast mine eye on; for the other, I use it but like my globe, and turn it round sometimes for my recreation.
Page 388 - The branches cross above our eyes, The skies are in a net : And what's the thing beneath the skies We two would most forget? Not birth, my love, no, no, — Not death, my love, no, no, — The love once ours, but ours long hours ago.
Page 362 - I do not think you have any right to speak to me in this way," replies he, quietly. " I may have deceived you passively once in my life by forbearing to mention what would do no good in the telling, and might have caused you grief, or, at least, unpleasantness. But to you or any other being I have never lied. I saw the woman dead with my own eyes.
Page 329 - The thrill is gone The thrill is gone I can see it in your eyes I can hear it in your sighs Feel your touch and realize The thrill is gone...
Page 299 - I am so glad I made that onslaught on your door a little while ago,' declare I merrily, ' and I think you were very undecided about letting me in. How good it is to be quite friends again : and we have not been that for a long time. Oh, is not jealousy a horrible pain?' ' " And to be wroth with those we love Doth work like madness on the brain,"
Page 383 - I turn back into my room, with a sensation that is almost fear at my heart. What a cold, unloving kiss ! A mere touching of the lips, without warmth or lingering pressure. What if he has ceased to love me ? We toil, through pain and wrong, We fight, and fly ; We lovo, we lose, and then, ere long, Stone dead we lie. 0 life ! is all thy song Endure — and die?

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