Songs of Society, from Anne to Victoria

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William Davenport Adams
Pickering and Company, 1880 - English poetry - 234 pages

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Page 101 - Dark was her hair, her hand was white ; Her voice was exquisitely tender ; Her eyes were full of liquid light ; I never saw a waist so slender ! Her every look, her every smile, Shot right and left a score of arrows ; I thought 'twas Venus from her isle, And wondered where she'd left her sparrows.
Page 101 - There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle Gave signal sweet in that old hall Of hands across and down the middle, Hers was the subtlest spell by far Of all that...
Page 43 - ... duodecimo phaeton, she desired me to write some verses on her ponies; upon which, I took out my pocketbook, and in one moment produced the following : " Sure never were seen two such beautiful ponies ; Other horses are clowns, but these macaronies : To give them this title I'm sure can't be wrong, Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long.
Page 40 - Both studied, though both seem neglected ; Careless she is with artful care, Affecting to seem unaffected. " With skill her eyes dart every glance, Yet change so soon you'd ne'er suspect them ; For she'd persuade they wound by chance, Though certain aim and art direct them. " She likes herself, yet others hates For that which in herself she prizes ; And, while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises.
Page 37 - You tell me you're promised a lover, My own Araminta, next week; Why cannot my fancy discover The hue of his coat and his cheek? Alas! if he look like another, A vicar, a banker, a beau, Be deaf to your father and mother, My own Araminta, say 'No!
Page xvii - FOLLOW a shadow, it still flies you, Seem to fly it, it will pursue. So court a mistress, she denies you, Let her alone, she will court you. Say are not women truly, then, Styled but the shadows of us men ? At morn and even shades are longest, At noon they are or short or none. So men at weakest, they are strongest, But grant us perfect, they're not known. Say are not women truly, then, Styled but the shadows of us men...
Page 74 - Or I am much mistaken. Must Lady Jenny frisk about, And visit with her cousins? At balls must she make all the rout, And bring home hearts by dozens?
Page 102 - Lieutenant of the County. But titles, and the three per cents., And mortgages, and great relations, And India bonds, and tithes, and rents, Oh what are they to love's sensations? Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks Such wealth, such honours, Cupid chooses He cares as little for the Stocks, As Baron Rothschild for the Muses.
Page 107 - I'll say; Indeed, I was half broken-hearted For a week, when they took you away. Fond fancy brought back to my slumbers Our walks on the Ness and the Den, And echoed the musical numbers Which you used to sing to me then. I know the romance, since it's over, 'Twere idle, or worse, to recall; I know you're a terrible rover; But Clarence, you'll come to our Ball!
Page 103 - 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. We parted: months and years rolled by; We met again four summers after.

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