Vers de SociétéH. Holt, 1876 - 400 psl. |
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xiv psl.
... TREE ...... JOHN GODFREY SAXE . MY FAMILIAR ... " " DO YOU THINK HE IS MARRIED ? " . FREDERICK LOCKER . TO MY GRANDMOTHER REPLY TO A LETTER ENCLOSING A LOCK OF HAIR .... MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS ...... MY NEIGHBOR ROSE ...... A NICE ...
... TREE ...... JOHN GODFREY SAXE . MY FAMILIAR ... " " DO YOU THINK HE IS MARRIED ? " . FREDERICK LOCKER . TO MY GRANDMOTHER REPLY TO A LETTER ENCLOSING A LOCK OF HAIR .... MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS ...... MY NEIGHBOR ROSE ...... A NICE ...
xvi psl.
... TREE.-H. Luttrell 35 LOVE IN A COTTAGE . - N . P. Willis . TOUJOURS AMOUR . - Edmund Clarence Stedman . STANZAS TO AN INTOXICATED FLY . - Henry S. Leigh .. BURNHAM - BEECHES . - Henry Luttrell .. 358 359 ...... 360 362 LINES LEFT AT MR ...
... TREE.-H. Luttrell 35 LOVE IN A COTTAGE . - N . P. Willis . TOUJOURS AMOUR . - Edmund Clarence Stedman . STANZAS TO AN INTOXICATED FLY . - Henry S. Leigh .. BURNHAM - BEECHES . - Henry Luttrell .. 358 359 ...... 360 362 LINES LEFT AT MR ...
14 psl.
... 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 , A LETTER OF ADVICE . If he knows not the 14.
... 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 , A LETTER OF ADVICE . If he knows not the 14.
56 psl.
... tree ! The weary tasks I used to con ! - The hopeless leaves I wept upon ! - Most fruitless leaves to me ! - The summon'd class ! -- the awful bow ! I wonder who is master now And wholesome anguish sheds ! How many ushers now employs ...
... tree ! The weary tasks I used to con ! - The hopeless leaves I wept upon ! - Most fruitless leaves to me ! - The summon'd class ! -- the awful bow ! I wonder who is master now And wholesome anguish sheds ! How many ushers now employs ...
77 psl.
... to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three - cornered hat , And the breeches , and all that , Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring , DAILY TRIALS . Let them smile as I do now 77.
... to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three - cornered hat , And the breeches , and all that , Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring , DAILY TRIALS . Let them smile as I do now 77.
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ALFRED TENNYSON ANGORA CAT Araminta AUTUMN IDYL beauty beneath bird bliss blue bosom Bouillabaisse BRAZEN HEAD bright Burnham-beeches cane-bottom'd chair cheek Christmas in Town CLAUDE TILLIER COLERAINE dance dear Dorothy dreams fair To fill fill my glass flower FRANK friends GARDEN IDYL girl glove glow good-night hair hand happy hear heart HENRY LUTTRELL IRISH EYES kiss lady laugh LAWRENCE LETTICE WHITE light Lilian lips LITTLE GERTY look MAHOGANY-TREE maid Miss morning MORTIMER COLLINS neighbor Nelly never o'er once PALL MALL perhaps pleasant pleasure poet poor pretty reason fair rhyme rose ROSE SONG round scarce sigh Sing heigh-ho smile soft song soul SPECTATOR AB EXTRA spends his Christmas sweet talk tears tell tender thee There's think's a reason THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY thou thought tree TU QUOQUE Twas vers de société vex'd wife wind youth
Populiarios ištraukos
76 psl. - I saw him once before, As he passed by the door, And again The pavement stones resound, As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, "They are gone.
285 psl. - Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips, the smile of truth. Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds, that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art.
255 psl. - A month or more hath she been dead, Yet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed And her together. A springy motion in her gait, A rising step, did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate That flush'd her spirit: I know not by what name beside I shall it call: if 'twas not pride, It was a joy to that allied She did inherit.
100 psl. - Ah me! how quick the days are flitting! I mind me of a time that's gone, When here I'd sit, .as now I'm sitting, In this same place but not alone. A fair young form was nestled near me, A dear, dear face looked fondly up, And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me There's no one now to share my cup.
72 psl. - ... call my own; And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten; If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen ! I always thought cold victual nice; My choice would be vanilla-ice.
9 psl. - 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.
77 psl. - But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin Like a staff, And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack In his laugh.
74 psl. - Turner, and no more. (A landscape, foreground golden dirt, The sunshine painted with a squirt). Of books but few some fifty score For daily use, and bound for wear; The rest upon an upper floor; Some little luxury there Of red morocco's gilded gleam, And vellum rich as country cream.
111 psl. - Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom; Night-birds are we; Here we carouse, Singing, like them, Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree.
81 psl. - MY AUNT. MY aunt ! my dear unmarried aunt ! Long years have o'er her flown ; Yet still she strains the aching clasp That binds her virgin zone ; I know it hurts her, though she looks As cheerful as she can ; Her waist is ampler than her life, For life is but a span.