The Awakening of Mary Fenwick, Volume 1

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Tauchnitz, 1892 - 294 pages
 

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Page 307 - When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course lad, And every dog his day. When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down; Creep home, and take your place there, The spent and maimed among; God grant you find one face there, You loved when all was young.
Page 56 - Oh, from out the sounding cells What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! How it swells ! How it dwells On the Future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells...
Page 79 - Come to me, O ye children ! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks ? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said ; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.
Page 1 - Is thy name Mary, maiden fair ? Such should, methinks, its music be ; The sweetest name that mortals bear Were best befitting thee ; And she to whom it once was given, Was half of earth and half of heaven. I hear thy voice, I see thy smile, I look upon thy folded hair ; Ah ! while we dream not they beguile, Our hearts are in the snare ; And she who chains a wild bird's wing Must start not if her captive sing. So, lady, take the leaf that falls, To all but thee unseen, unknown ; When evening shades...
Page 124 - tis not to have you gone; For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away: Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces; Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels
Page 251 - Can I teach thee my beloved, — can I teach thee ? If I said, ' Go left or right,' The counsel would be light, The wisdom, poor of all that could enrich thee. My right would show like left, My raising would depress thee, My choice of light would blind thee, Of way, would leave behind thee, Of end, would leave bereft. Alas, I can but bless thee ! May God teach thee my beloved, — May God teach thee.

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