Three wives. By the author of 'Margaret and her bridesmaids'. |
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Стр. 177 - Is lightened ; that serene and blessed mood In which the affections gently lead us on, Until the breath of this corporeal frame, And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul; While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
Стр. 201 - The bridegroom sea Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride, And, in the fulness of his marriage joy, He decorates her tawny brow with shells, Retires a space, to see how fair she looks, Then proud runs up to kiss her.
Стр. 141 - That we would do, We should do when we would, for this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing.
Стр. 217 - Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits.
Стр. 35 - THOUGHT is deeper than all speech, Feeling deeper than all thought ; Souls to souls can never teach What unto themselves was taught. We are spirits clad in veils ; Man by man was never seen ; All our deep communing fails To remove the shadowy screen. Heart to heart was never known ; Mind with mind did never meet ; We are columns left alone Of a temple once complete.
Стр. 288 - What's that which Heaven to man endears, And that which eyes no sooner see Than the heart says, with floods of tears, Ah, that's the thing which I would be!
Стр. 276 - Though heard i' the stillness of their native hills — Not the rich viol, trump, cymbal, nor horn, Guitar nor cittern, nor the pining flute, Are half so sweet as tender...
Стр. 265 - I am a knave, if I know what to say, What course to take, or which way to resolve. My brain, methinks, is like an hour-glass, Wherein my imaginations run like sands, Filling up time ; but then are turned, and turned : So that I know not what to stay upon, And less, to put in act.
Стр. 66 - Thy neighbour prizeth not. Thou must not let thy heart grow cold, Nor hush each generous tone, Nor veil the bright love in thine eye ; Thou must not live alone.
Стр. 165 - Upon the blanched tablets of her heart; A love still burning upward, giving light To read those laws; an accent very low In blandishment, but a most silver flow Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, tho' undescried, Winning its way with extreme gentleness Thro...