The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed

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Houghton Mifflin Company, 1909 - 242 pages

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Page 20 - Our love was like most other loves — A little glow, a little shiver, A rosebud and a pair of gloves, And " Fly Not Yet " upon the river ; Some jealousy of some one's heir, Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows ; and then we parted.
Page 7 - And he was kind, and loved to sit In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit, And share the widow's homelier pottage: At his approach complaint grew mild; And when his hand unbarred the shutter, The clammy lips of fever smiled The welcome which they could not utter.
Page 17 - Little. Through sunny May, through sultry June, I loved her with a love eternal ; I spoke her praises to the moon, I wrote them to the Sunday Journal.
Page 6 - And nothings for Sylvanus Urban. He did not think all mischief fair, Although he had a knack of joking ; He did not make himself a bear, Although he had a taste for smoking ; And when religious...
Page 4 - Uprose the Reverend Dr. Brown, Uprose the Doctor's winsome marrow ; The lady laid her knitting down, Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow ; Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed, Pundit or Papist, saint or sinner, He found a stable for his steed, And welcome for himself, and dinner. If, when he...
Page 154 - Walk — To shiver in the lobby ; I wish that I could run away From house, and court, and levee, Where bearded men appear to-day, Just Eton boys, grown heavy...
Page 230 - The trees and the herbs that round it grew Were venomous and foul, And the birds that through the bushes flew Were the vulture and the owl; The water was as dark and rank As ever a company pumped, And the perch, that was netted and laid on the bank, Grew rotten while it jumped; And bold was he who thither came At midnight, man or boy, For the place was cursed with an evil name, And that name was The Devil's Decoy!
Page 120 - No!' If he speaks of a tax or a duty, If he does not look grand on his knees, If he's blind to a landscape of beauty, Hills, valleys, rocks, waters, and trees, If he dotes not on desolate towers, If he likes not to hear the blast blow, If he knows not the language of flowers, My own Araminta, say 'No...
Page 29 - You'll be forgotten — as old de"bts By persons who are used to borrow ; Forgotten — as the sun that sets, When shines a new one on the morrow ; Forgotten — like the luscious peach, That blessed the school-boy last September ; Forgotten — like a maiden speech, Which all men praise, but none remember.
Page 117 - Taught us both how to sing and to speak, And we loved one another with passion, Before we had been there a week : You gave me a ring for a token ; I wear it wherever I go ; I gave you a chain,— is it broken ? My own Araminta, say "No!

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