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1st into 3rd 3rd loop affection appeared bead beautiful better Blue bright called centre chain child circles color commence Constance continued corner Cotton Crochet dark Dc stitch dear draw dream earth eyes face fair father feeling flowers girl give Gold Green hand happy head heart hope increasing kind knit lady last row leaves light live long into 3rd long on long long stitches look Mary memory Mesh mind miss 2 loops mother nature never night once passed plain poor present repeat from beginning round Row.—1 long Scarlet seemed shade side sister skeins smile song soon speak squares Steel sure sweet tears tell thee thing thou thought told true truth turn voice White wish woman wonder Wool young
Стр. 53 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon. Nor brought too long a day ; But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
Стр. 380 - He raised a sigh so piteous and profound As it did seem to shatter all his bulk And end his being. That done, he lets me go, And with his head over his shoulder turned He seemed to find his way without his eyes, For out o' doors he went without their help And to the last bended their light on me.
Стр. 321 - No, no, no life : Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all ? Thou'lt come no more. Never, never, never, never, never ! — Pray you undo this button : thank you, sir.
Стр. 113 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Стр. 106 - Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath...
Стр. 331 - Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh? As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, And place them on their breast — but place to die — Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.
Стр. 380 - Doubt thou the stars are fire ; Doubt that the sun doth move ; Doubt truth to be a liar ; But never doubt I love.
Стр. 24 - And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.