Wild Hyacinth, Volume 1

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Hurst and Blackett, 1875

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Page 216 - Ah me! for aught that ever I could read. Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But, either it was different in blood; Her.
Page 156 - There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play." Now half to the setting moon are gone, And half to the rising day; Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away.
Page 262 - I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers By thousands have burst from the forest bowers, And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains...
Page 285 - Go not, happy day, From the shining fields, Go not, happy day, Till the maiden yields. Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks, And a rose her mouth. When the happy Yes Falters from her lips, Pass and blush the news O'er the blowing ships. Over blowing seas, Over seas at rest, Pass the happy news, Blush it thro...
Page 194 - Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind...
Page 1 - No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossomes drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.
Page 122 - Nous l'admirions dans nos tristes loisirs; Car ce n'est point au bal que le cœur se déploie, La cendre y vole autour des tuniques de soie, L'ennui sombre autour des plaisirs. Mais elle, par la valse ou la ronde emportée, Volait, et revenait, et ne respirait pas, Et s'enivrait des sons de la flûte vantée, Des fleurs, des lustres d'or, de la fête enchantée, Du bruit des voix, du bruit des pas.
Page 146 - I have no other but a woman's reason ; I think him so, because I think him so.
Page 235 - Sigh, no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore ; To one thing constant never : Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny ; Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Page 146 - By noting of the lady: I have mark'd A thousand blushing apparitions To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness beat away those blushes; And in her eye there hath appear'da fire, To burn the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool; Trust not my reading nor my...

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