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Literary Frivolities, Fancies, Follies and Frolics (Classic Reprint)
William T. Dobson
No preview available - 2015
acrostic alliteration anagram answer appeared beautiful beginning Bible called Charles containing correct Cross curious death doth earth Echo English errors example fair Fortune French gave give given hand head heart Heaven hour instance John kind King labour lady language Latin learned leave letter light lines literary live look Lord Mary meaning meet mind nature never night once pain passage perhaps piece play poem poet poetry poor printers published reader referred rhyme rise round sent shows side similar song soon soul sound specimen Studentes style sure sweet taken tears tell thee things thou thought Tipperary true turned twist verse walked words writing written wrote young
Page 150 - SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Page 37 - Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun: Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light!
Page 156 - FLUTTERING spread thy purple pinions, Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart ; I a slave in thy dominions ; Nature must give way to art. Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, Nightly nodding o'er your flocks, See my weary days consuming, All beneath yon flowery rocks.
Page 147 - Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay ; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, • But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die...
Page 263 - Who hath woe ? who hath sorrow ? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause ? who hath redness of eyes ? They that tarry long at the wine ; they that go to seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.
Page 272 - TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 153 - And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live ? And I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest.
Page 278 - Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his ox, if you love me as I love you no knife can cut our love in two.