The Moss Rose

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Leavitt & Allen, 1851 - Gift books

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Page 120 - TwAs a lovely thought to mark the hours, As they floated in light away, By the opening and the folding flowers, That laugh to the summer's day.
Page 282 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers...
Page 157 - All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key; As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, Had been incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; But yet...
Page 283 - The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.
Page 66 - And with a sharp, quick cry, as if her heart Were crush'd, she lifted him and held him close Into her bosom — with a mother's thought — As if death had no power to touch him there ! ******* The man of God came forth, and led the child Unto his mother, and went on his way. And he was there — her beautiful — her own — Living and smiling on her — with his arms Folded about her neck, and his warm breath Breathing upon her lips, and in her ear The music of his gentle voice once more ! D2 JEPHTHAH'S...
Page 283 - And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Page 64 - To love when he was slumbering at her side In his unconscious infancy — "— So still! 'Tis a soft sleep ! How beautiful he lies, With his fair forehead, and the rosy veins Playing so freshly in his sunny cheek ! How could they say that he would die ! Oh, God!
Page 65 - Many long years to come, and his fair hair Will darken like his father's, and his eye Be of a deeper blue when he is grown ; And he will be so tall, and I shall look With such a pride upon him! — He to die!
Page 282 - The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The...
Page 32 - The historic libraries of Londonderry and Belfast gave him valuable information. He traveled from the South to the North, from the East to the West...

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