The Story of Rosina, and Other VersesK. Paul, Trench, Trübner, & Company, 1895 - 120 psl. |
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6 psl.
... twas no Venus of Batavian city , But a French girl , young , piquante , bright , and pretty . Graceful she was , as some slim marsh - flower shaken Among the sallows , in the breezy Spring ; Blithe as the first blithe song of birds that ...
... twas no Venus of Batavian city , But a French girl , young , piquante , bright , and pretty . Graceful she was , as some slim marsh - flower shaken Among the sallows , in the breezy Spring ; Blithe as the first blithe song of birds that ...
6 psl.
... the unknown comer . ' Twas a young girl— “ une pauvre fille , ” she said , They had been growing poorer all the summer ; Father was lame , and mother lately dead ; CALIFORNIA " On his knees " AS 95 AIMBORLIAD The ΙΟ The Story of Rosina.
... the unknown comer . ' Twas a young girl— “ une pauvre fille , ” she said , They had been growing poorer all the summer ; Father was lame , and mother lately dead ; CALIFORNIA " On his knees " AS 95 AIMBORLIAD The ΙΟ The Story of Rosina.
11 psl.
Austin Dobson. The Story of Rosina Then , ―for at best ' twas but the empty type , The husk of man with which the days were ripe , — 15 Then , he forgot her . But , for you that slew her , You , her own sister , that with airy ease ...
Austin Dobson. The Story of Rosina Then , ―for at best ' twas but the empty type , The husk of man with which the days were ripe , — 15 Then , he forgot her . But , for you that slew her , You , her own sister , that with airy ease ...
55 psl.
... Now pale , with timorous eyes that filled At " twice - told tales " of foxes killed ; — Now trembling when slow tongues grew free ' Twixt sport , and Port — and Dorothy ! 61 ' Twas then she'd seek this nook , and find.
... Now pale , with timorous eyes that filled At " twice - told tales " of foxes killed ; — Now trembling when slow tongues grew free ' Twixt sport , and Port — and Dorothy ! 61 ' Twas then she'd seek this nook , and find.
115 psl.
... Twas on these grounds I just refused Some gushing lady - almoner , — Believe me , on these very grounds . Good - bye , then . Ah , a rarity ! That cost me quite three hundred pounds , — That Dürer figure , — “ Charity . " 115 NOTES ...
... Twas on these grounds I just refused Some gushing lady - almoner , — Believe me , on these very grounds . Good - bye , then . Ah , a rarity ! That cost me quite three hundred pounds , — That Dürer figure , — “ Charity . " 115 NOTES ...
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afield were sun-baked AUSTIN DOBSON Autumn Idyll BEAU BROCADE beauty Belle Marquise Besought her leave Betwixt the paths Bright-eyed Bella brow CALIFORNIA called too green Camargo CONVENT GATE Cupid's Alley Curé dainty dance Dash was smitten dear and deprecating deprecating mother door she lingers Dorothy dream of harp-prest E'en eyes fancy François Boucher FRANK Garden Idyll gossip's word grace was jupes grass he called gray grown stout gudgeon harp-prest bosoms Heading to poem heart HUGH THOMSON JACK knees LADY last poet LAWRENCE List of Illustrations look Louise lure anew M'sieu Misogynist Monsieur Muse NOTE Painter peaches poem To face porcelain trifle Preferred Clarissa Read and re-read reading Greek Rose round seat shall tumble sequel's scarce essential Sing smile snow song sorrow Story of Rosina Strive to lure Sundial suspended cherries things thought thrush Twas Twice-told tales Twixt vanished days verses VIMU Virtuoso Watching the suspended
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46 psl. - read " three hours. Both notes and text Were fast a mist becoming ; In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed, And filled the room with humming, Then out. The casement's leafage sways, And, parted light, discloses Miss Di., with hat and book, — a maze Of muslin mixed with roses. " You're reading Greek?" " I am — and you?" " O, mine's a mere romancer ! "
61 psl. - I PLUNGE my hand among the leaves : (An alien touch but dust perceives, Nought else supposes ;) For me those fragrant ruins raise Clear memory of the vanished days When they were roses. " If youth but knew !" Ah, " if," in truth— I can recall with what gay youth, To what light chorus, Unsobered yet by time or change, We roamed the many-gabled Grange, All life before us ; Braved the old clock-tower's dust and damp To catch the dim Arthurian camp In misty distance ; Peered at the still-room's sacred...
46 psl. - " I am— and you ? " " O, mine's a mere romancer ! " "So Plato is." '• Then read him— do ; And I'll read mine in answer." I read. " My Plato (Plato, too, — That wisdom thus should harden !) Declares ' blue eyes look doubly blue Beneath a Dolly Varden.
88 psl. - And a pinch from the Cure's box. There is also a word that no one heard To the furrier's daughter Lou; And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red, And a "Bon Dieu garde M'sieu .'" But a grander way for the Sous-Pre"fet, And a bow for Ma'am'selle Anne; And a mock "off-hat...
46 psl. - For Socrates (I find he too is talking) Thinks Learning can't remain at ease While Beauty goes a-walking." She read no more. I leapt the sill : The sequel's scarce essential — Nay, more than this, I hold it still Profoundly confidential.
87 psl. - And a bow for Ma'am'selle Anne ; And a mock " off-hat " to the Notary's cat, And a nod to the Sacristan : — For ever through life the Cure goes With a smile on his kind old face — With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair And his green umbrella-case.
71 psl. - T^IS an old dial, dark with many a stain ; -*- In summer crowned with drifting orchard bloom, Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain, And white in winter like a marble tomb...
73 psl. - ... tendril-curls the sunlight shone; And round her train the tiger-lilies swayed, Like courtiers bowing till the queen be gone. She leaned upon the slab a little while, Then drew a jewelled pencil from her zone, Scribbled a something with a frolic smile, Folded, inscribed, and niched it in the stone. The shade slipped on, no swifter than the snail: There came a second lady to the place, Dove-eyed, dove-robed, and something wan and pale— An inner beauty shining from her face.
88 psl. - As she knits in her dusky stall. There's a letter to drop at the locksmith's shop, And Toto, the locksmith's niece, Has jubilant hopes, for the Cure gropes In his tails for a pain d'epice.
36 psl. - Mine's a musician, — musical at heart, — Throbs to the gathered grieving of Beethoven, Sways to the light coquetting of Mozart. FRANK. Best ? You should hear mine trilling out a ballad, Queen at a pic-nic, leader of the glees, Not too divine to toss you up a salad, Great in Sir Roger danced among the trees.