Faith and Unfaith

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Smith, Elder, 1887 - 332 pages

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Page 242 - Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on...
Page 79 - I shall do so ; But I must also feel it as a man : I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me.
Page 107 - The night was winter in his roughest mood ; The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon Upon the southern side of the slant hills, And where the woods fence off the northern blast, The season smiles, resigning all its rage, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue Without a cloud, and white without a speck The dazzling splendour of the scene below.
Page 325 - Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round : Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
Page 243 - To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares ; To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires ; To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne.
Page 241 - Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a : A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a.
Page 308 - For it so falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth, Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rack the value; then we find The virtue, that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours...
Page 289 - Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part! Nay, I have done. You get no more of me! And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever! Cancel all our vows! And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain.
Page 204 - There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate, She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate. The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near ;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;" The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;" And the lily whispers, "I wait.
Page 14 - Her form was fresher than the morning rose, When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and pure, As is the lily, or the mountain snow.

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