Minna Monté

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J.B. Lippincott & Company, 1872 - 224 pages

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Page 164 - For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Page 24 - 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.
Page 210 - Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted, — they have torn me — and I bleed : I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
Page 36 - When forced the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt at my heart ! Yet I thought — but it might not be so — 'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gazed, as I slowly withdrew, My path I could hardly discern ; So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return.
Page 217 - Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart, — As if the soul that minute caught Some treasure it through life had sought...
Page 74 - Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, How light was thy heart till Love's witchery came, Like the wind of the south...
Page 20 - Try every winning way inventive love Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates Pour forth their little souls.
Page 118 - I SAW thee weep — the big bright tear Came o'er that eye of blue; And then methought it did appear A violet dropping dew...
Page 220 - thou blessed child ! When, young and haply pure as thou, I look'd and pray'd like thee ; but now — " He hung his head ; each nobler aim And hope and feeling, which had slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept! Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.
Page 221 - The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name ; But mine was like the lava flood That boils in ^Etna's breast of flame. I cannot prate in puling strain Of ladye-love, and beauty's chain : If changing cheek, and scorching vein, Lips taught to writhe, but not complain, If bursting heart, and...

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