Every Saturday: A Journal of Choice Reading, Volume 2

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Ticknor and Fields., 1866
 

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Page 208 - tis all we want, — the end of all our wishes and pursuits : give us a prospect of this, we take the wings of the morning, and fly to the uttermost parts of the earth...
Page 109 - No man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life; that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier.
Page 95 - For forty years she was the true and everloving helpmate of her husband; and, by act and word, unweariedly forwarded him, as none else could, in all of worthy that he did or attempted. She died at London, 21st April, 1866; suddenly snatched away from him, and the light of his life as if gone out.
Page 240 - If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf. If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle, With kisses glad as birds are That get sweet rain at noon ; If I were what the words are And love were like the tune.
Page 9 - There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian. Whose portal we call Death.
Page 240 - We'd shine and snow together Ere March made sweet the weather With daffodil and starling And hours of fruitful breath ; If you were life, my darling, And I your love were death. If you were thrall to sorrow, And I were page to joy, We'd play for lives and seasons With loving looks and treasons And tears of night and morrow And laughs of maid and boy ; If you were thrall to sorrow, And I we'e page to joy.
Page 240 - d throw with leaves for hours And draw for days with flowers, Till day like night were shady And night were bright like day ; If you were April's lady, And I were lord in May. If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain...
Page 110 - I shall be tempted to believe that Solomon was wrong when he said that the one thing to be sought after on earth, more precious than all treasure, she who has length of days in her right hand, and in her left hand riches and honour...
Page 155 - Her beauty, fervent as a fiery moon, Made my blood burn and swoon Like a flame rained upon. Sorrow had filled her shaken eyelids' blue, And her mouth's sad red heavy rose all through Seemed sad with glad things gone.
Page 240 - THESE many years since we began to be, What have the gods done with us ? what with me, What with my love ? they have shown me fates and fears, Harsh springs, and fountains bitterer than the sea, Grief a fixed star, and joy a vane that veers, These many years.

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