Rural Letters and Other Records of Thought at Leisure: Written in the Intervals of More Hurried Literary Labor

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Baker and Scribner, 1849 - 380 من الصفحات
 

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الصفحة 110 - I think he'll be to Rome As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it By sovereignty of nature.
الصفحة 102 - A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet ; It is the distant and the dim That we are sick to greet ; For flowers that grow our hands beneath We struggle and aspire, — Our hearts must die, except they breathe The air of fresh desire.
الصفحة 303 - Was it a soothing or a mournful thought, Amid this scene of slaughter as we stood, Where armies had with recent fury fought, To mark how gentle Nature still pursued Her quiet course, as if she took no care For what her noblest work had suffer'd there.
الصفحة 215 - Room, gentle flowers ! my child would pass to heaven ! Ye look'd not for her yet with your soft eyes, Oh, watchful ushers at Death's narrow door ! But, lo ! while you delay to let her forth, Angels, beyond, stay for her ! One long kiss From lips all pale with agony, and tears, Wrung after anguish had dried up with fire The eyes that wept them, were the cup of life Held as a welcome to her. Weep, O mother ! But not that from this cup of bitterness A cherub of the sky has turn'd away.
الصفحة 223 - ... knee ; And with his calm eye on his master's face, My noble hound lies couchant — and all here — All in this little home, yet boundless heaven — Are, in such love as I have power to give, Blessed to overflowing. Thou, who look'st Upon my brimming heart this tranquil eve, Knowest its fulness, as thou dost the dew Sent to the hidden violet by Thee...
الصفحة 208 - Lord of the soil,'' is a title which conveys your privileges but poorly. You are master of waters flowing at this moment, perhaps, in a river of Judea, or floating in clouds over some spicy island of the tropics, bound hither after many changes. There are lilies and violets ordered for you in millions, acres of sunshine in daily instalments, and dew nightly in proportion.
الصفحة 222 - ... a far world, Babe of my bosom! that these little arms, Whose restlessness is like the spread of wings, Move with the memory of flights scarce o'er — That through these fringed lids we see the soul Steep'd in the blue of its...
الصفحة 216 - Yet have I chosen for thy grave, my child, A bank where I have lain in summer hours, And thought how little it would seem like death To sleep amid such loveliness. The brook Tripping with laughter down the rocky steps That lead...
الصفحة 88 - And is not careful what they mean thereby," it is very pleasant now and then to pounce upon a bigger bird screaming in the same chorus. Nothing impairs the dignity of an author's reputation like a newspaper wrangle, yet one bold literary vulture struck down promptly and successfully serves as good a purpose as the hawk nailed to the barn door.
الصفحة 57 - D'Israeli on my mind as the most wonderful talker I have ever had the fortune to meet. He is anything but a declaimer. You would never think him on stilts. If he catches himself in a rhetorical sentence, he mocks at it in the next breath. He is satirical, contemptuous, pathetic, humorous, everything in a moment ; and his conversation on any subject whatever, embraces the omnibus rebus, et quibusdam aliis.

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