The St. James's Magazine and United Empire Review, 第 34 巻

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A.H. Moxon, 1879
 

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952 ページ - We have but faith: we cannot know, For knowledge is of things we see; And yet we trust it comes from thee, A beam in darkness: let it grow.
710 ページ - Ah, wasteful woman! — she who may On her sweet self set her own price, Knowing he cannot choose but pay — How has she cheapen'd Paradise ! How given for nought her priceless gift, How spoiled the bread and spill'd the wine, Which, spent with due respective thrift, Had made brutes men, and men divine I * * Coventry Patmore.
1118 ページ - Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.
627 ページ - Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she ; The Heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.
818 ページ - If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that I defied not...
947 ページ - Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be; They are but broken lights of thee, And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
652 ページ - I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
1117 ページ - It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook, In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
776 ページ - Yes; bless the man who first invented sleep (I really can't avoid the iteration), But blast the man, with curses loud and deep, Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station, Who first invented, and went round advising, That artificial cut-off, Early Rising! "Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed...
787 ページ - A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.

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