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bear beauty beneath bless bloom blossoms blows blue blush bosom boughs bowers breast breath bright bring buds charms child cloud cold daisy dark dead dear death deep delight dreams earth fade fair fall feel fragrance fresh garden gentle give golden grace grave green grows hand hath head heart heaven hope hour leaf leaves light lily live lonely look morning nature never night o'er once pale perfume plant pleasure POETRY OF FLOWERS pride pure rest rich rise rose round seen shade shed showers sigh silent simple skies sleep smile soft song soon soul speak spirit spring star stream summer sweet tears tell tender thee thine things thou thought tomb tree true turn vale violets wild winds wings winter young
Page 31 - And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale, That the light of its tremulous bells is seen Through their pavilions of tender green...
Page 215 - You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain ; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.
Page 118 - Dis's waggon! daffodils That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale prim-roses That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength...
Page 122 - Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is given.
Page 156 - And noble arch in proud decay, Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; But one thing want these banks of Rhine, — Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine...
Page 127 - Go, lovely Rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth! Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
Page 214 - Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early rising sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along.
Page 231 - THERE is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. The prouder beauties of the field In gay but quick succession shine, Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline. But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the Sun.
Page 22 - Neath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth And tolls its perfume on the passing air Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth A call to prayer : Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fane most catholic and solemn Which God hath plann'd,— To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply, Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome the sky.