The Autocrat of the breakfast-table

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J.M. Dent & Company, 1907 - Всего страниц: 318
 

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Стр. 245 - The parson was working his Sunday's text,— Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed At what the— Moses— was coming next. All at once the horse stood still, Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.
Стр. 244 - Little of all we value here Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth.
Стр. 82 - This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Стр. 245 - November, fifty-five! This morning the parson takes a drive. Now, small boys, get out of the way! Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. "Huddup!" said the parson. — Off went they. The parson was working his Sunday's text, — Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed At what the — Moses — was coming next. All at once the horse stood still, Close by the...
Стр. 243 - Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always somewhere a weakest spot, In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, In panel, or crossbar, or floor , or sill, In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still, Find it somewhere you must and will, Above or below, or within or without, And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, A chaise breaks down but doesn't wear out. But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do, With an "I dew vum...
Стр. 242 - HAVE you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then of a sudden, it ah, but stay...
Стр. 244 - Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Found in the pit when the tanner died. That was the way he "put her through.
Стр. 79 - I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving : To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it, — but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.
Стр. 293 - O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, But where the glistening night-dews weep On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. O hearts that break and give no sign Save whitening lip and fading tresses, Till Death pours out his cordial wine...
Стр. 54 - If I but touch thy silvered hair Thy hasty wish hath sped. "But is there nothing in thy track, To bid thee fondly stay, While the swift seasons hurry back To find the wished-for day?

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