Reveries of a Bachelor; Or, A Book of the HeartC. Scribner's Sons, 1883 - Всего страниц: 286 |
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Apennines Aunt Tabithy bachelor beautiful Bella blaze brain bright burning charm cherished cigar coal coated dog cold comes curls dark day-dawn dead dear Devon dreams earnest Enrica face fancy fantastic children father fear feeling fellow fingers fire flame flowers friends girl glow gondolier gone grief grow half hand happy head heart Heaven hope hour Isabel kind kindle laugh lean letters light Lilly lips listen live look Lorgnette marriage morning mother mused never night oaks once Palestrina pass passion Paul Peggy perhaps play pleasant poor pretty quick Reverie rich russet color Sea-coal seems shadows sigh sleep slipping smile smoke Sorrows of Werther soul sparkling strong sure sweet sweet escape sympathies talk tall tears tell thought Tray trees trembling warm watch waving white ashes wife wish wonder Xavier de Maistre
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Стр. 52 - Attractive, human, rational, love still: In loving thou dost well, in passion not, Wherein true love consists not. Love refines The thoughts, and heart enlarges ; hath his seat In reason, and is judicious ; is the scale By which to heavenly love thou may'st ascend, Not sunk in carnal pleasure: for which cause, Among the beasts no mate for thee was found.
Стр. 27 - I care not, Fortune, what you me deny: You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace: You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her bright'ning face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve: Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great Children leave: Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Стр. 51 - A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-robed god, Golden Apollo, a poor, humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer ; Nor in a way so chaste ; since my desires Run not before mine honor ; nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. Per. O, but, dear 2 sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Opposed, as it must be, by the power o...
Стр. 9 - All will be over! Why not, I thought, go on dreaming? Can any wife be prettier than an after-dinner fancy, idle and yet vivid, can paint for you? Can any children make less noise than the little rosy-cheeked ones who have no existence except in the omnium gatherum of your own brain? Can any housewife be more unexceptionable than she who goes sweeping daintily the cobwebs that gather in your dreams ? Can any domestic larder be better stocked than the private larder of your head dozing on a cushioned...
Стр. 179 - tis not done: the attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em.
Стр. 34 - You find her propped up with pillows ; she is looking over a little picture-book bethumbed by the dear boy she has lost. She hides it in her chair ; she has pity on you. " Another day of revival, when the spring sun shines, and flowers open out of doors. She leans on your arm, and strolls into the garden where the first birds are singing.
Стр. 13 - You wonder why you did n't see that vulgar nose long ago ; and that lip, — it is very strange, you think, that you ever thought it pretty. And then, to come to breakfast with her hair looking as it does, and you not so much as daring to say,
Стр. 31 - You sigh, you pat your dog : it is over. Losses ? You retrench, you light your pipe : it is forgotten. Calumny ? You laugh, you sleep. But with that childless wife clinging to you in love and sorrow, — what then ? Can you take down Seneca now, and coolly blow the dust from the leaf-tops ? Can you crimp your lip with Voltaire ? Can you smoke idly, your feet dangling with the ivies, your thoughts all waving fancies upon a churchyard wall, — a wall that borders the grave of your boy ? Can you amuse...
Стр. 23 - Kind hands — . none but hers — will smooth the hair upon your brow as the chill grows damp and heavy on it ; and her fingers — none but hers — will lie in yours as the wasted flesh stiffens and hardens for the ground.
Стр. 35 - God will help you ! " She presses harder your hand: — "Adieu!" A long breath — another; — you are alone again. No tears now ; poor man ! You cannot find them ! Again home early. There is a smell of varnish in your house. A coffin is there; they have clothed the body in decent grave-clothes, and the undertaker is screwing down the lid, slipping round on tiptoe. Does he fear to...