The Living Female Writers of the South

Claxton, Remsen & Haffelfinger, 1872 - 568 páginas
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Página 215 - His fair large front and eye sublime declared Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad: She, as a veil down to the slender waist, Her unadorned golden tresses wore...
Página 97 - COULD have stemm'd misfortune's tide, And borne the rich one's sneer, Have braved the haughty glance of pride, Nor shed a single tear. I could have smiled on every blow From Life's full quiver thrown, While I might gaze on thee, and know I should not be "alone.
Página 334 - A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict everything you said today. "Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.
Página 97 - But thus to see, from day to day, Thy brightening eye and cheek, And watch thy life-sands waste away, Unnumbered, slowly, meek ; — To meet thy smiles of tenderness, And catch the feeble tone Of kindness, ever breathed to bless, And feel, I'll be " alone ;" — To mark thy strength each hour decay, And yet thy hopes grow stronger, As, filled with heaven-ward trust, they say, " Earth may not claim thee longer...
Página 211 - Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona ; for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven. And I say also unto thee, that thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
Página 468 - His young comrades found him, and tenderly bore The cold lifeless form to his home by the shore ; Oh, dark were our hearts on that terrible day, When we saw our dead boy in the jacket of gray.
Página 356 - He is sleeping; brown and silken Lie the lashes, long and meek, Like caressing, clinging shadows On his plump and peachy cheek; And I bend above him, weeping Thankful tears, O Undented!
Página 143 - I believe my faith in thee, Strong as my life, so nobly placed to be, I would as soon expect to see the sun Fall like a dead king from his height sublime, His glory stricken from the throne of time, As thee unworth the worship thou hast won.
Página 143 - I believe if I were dead And you upon my lifeless heart sho.uld tread, Not knowing what the poor clod chanced to be, It would find sudden pulse beneath the touch Of him it ever loved in life so much, And throb again — warm, tender, true to thee.
Página 143 - Hath half the sweetness of his life unproved, Like one who with the grape within his grasp Drops it with all its crimson juice unpressed, And all its luscious sweetness left unguessed, Out from his careless and unheeding clasp.

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