The Dial, Volume 57

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Jansen, McClurg, 1914 - Literature
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Page 16 - She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
Page 98 - Genesis) when he was sent to choose a wife for Isaac; for even so he trusted her to choose for him, promising upon a fair summons to return to London and accept of her choice; and he did so in that or about the year following.
Page 250 - With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM. Then I had religion, then I had a vision, I could not turn from their revel in derision. Then I saw the Congo, creeping through the black, Cutting through the forest with a golden track.
Page 167 - To his Lute MY lute, be as thou wast when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodious winds but made thee move, And birds on thee their ramage did bestow.
Page 311 - Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, 'it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.' 'The question is, 'said Alice, 'whether you can make words mean so many different things.
Page 413 - And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith: Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith; But he shouted a song for the brave and the free — Just read on his medal, "My country,
Page 298 - In the four quarters of the globe, who reads an American book, or goes to an American play, or looks at an American picture or statue...
Page 299 - Read Homer once, and you can read no more ; For all books else appear so mean, so poor, Verse will seem prose : but still persist to read. And Homer will be all the books you need.
Page 249 - Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom, Hard as they were able, Boom, boom, BOOM, With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM. THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision. I could not turn from their revel in derision. THEN i SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK, CUTTING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.
Page 169 - As, in a dusky and tempestuous night, A star is wont to spread her locks of gold, And while her pleasant rays abroad are roll'd, Some spiteful cloud doth rob us of her sight ; Fair soul, in this black age so shin'd thou bright, And made all eyes with wonder thee behold, Till ugly Death, depriving us of light, In his grim misty arms thee did enfold.

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