The Poetical Works of Owen Meredith (Robert, Lord Lytton)

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Osgood, 1875 - Poetry, English - 406 pages
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Page 198 - We opened it by the tapers' shine : The gems were all unchanged : the face Was — neither his nor mine. " One nail drives out another, at least ! The face of the portrait there," I cried, " Is our friend's the Raphael-faced young Priest, Who confessed her when she died.
Page 403 - Talk not of genius baffled. Genius is master of man. \ Genius does what it must, and talent does what it can.
Page 196 - With her primrose face, for old things are best; And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above The brooch in my lady's breast. The world is filled with folly and sin, And love must cling where it can, I say: For beauty is easy enough to win; But one is n't loved every day.
Page 149 - No life Can be pure in its purpose and strong in its strife And all life not be purer and stronger thereby.
Page 20 - The man who seeks one thing in life, and but one. May hope to achieve it before life be done ; But he who seeks all things, wherever he goes, Only reaps from the hopes which around him he sows A harvest of barren regrets.
Page 196 - The world is filled with folly and sin, And love must cling where it can, I say: For beauty is easy enough to win ; But one isn't loved every day. And I think, in the lives of most women and men, There's a moment when all would go smooth and even, If only the dead could find out when. To come back and be forgiven. But oh the smell of that jasmine flower!
Page 359 - ... up the sum of God's account. Earth's number-scale is near us set ; The total God alone can see ; But each some fraction : shall I fret If you see Four where I saw Three...
Page 196 - With the jasmine in her breast. She is not dead, and she is not wed! But she loves me now, and she loved me then ! And the very first word that her sweet lips said, My heart grew youthful again.
Page 401 - Ay, there are some good things in life, that fall not away with the rest. And, of all best things upon earth, I hold that a faithful friend is the best.
Page 195 - I thought of our little quarrels and strife, And the letter that brought me back my ring ; And it all seemed then, in the waste of life, Such a very little thing ! For I thought of her grave below the hill, Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over ; And I thought "Were she only living still, How I could forgive her and love her ! " And I swear as I thought of her thus in that hour.

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