A Campaigner at HomeLongman, 1865 - 367 ˹éÒ |
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˹éÒ x
... pure indolence , no doubt ; but then indolence is always becoming , and this indolence is of a very rich , luxurious , and highly ornamented description , like the jug there which belonged to Louis Quatorze . I think the habit grows on ...
... pure indolence , no doubt ; but then indolence is always becoming , and this indolence is of a very rich , luxurious , and highly ornamented description , like the jug there which belonged to Louis Quatorze . I think the habit grows on ...
˹éÒ 3
... pure , pious , and happy ; it is the nearest approach that remains to the ideal Arcadian life ; for it is calm , without being stagnant ; active and manly , and yet not simply physical ; and tender , without being vulgar or gross , like ...
... pure , pious , and happy ; it is the nearest approach that remains to the ideal Arcadian life ; for it is calm , without being stagnant ; active and manly , and yet not simply physical ; and tender , without being vulgar or gross , like ...
˹éÒ 4
... pure lover of nature is beyond my reach , I would not willingly set up my tent in the dusty high road . I do not like the town cross either of a village or of a city . It is not good for us to see overmuch of our fellow - creatures ...
... pure lover of nature is beyond my reach , I would not willingly set up my tent in the dusty high road . I do not like the town cross either of a village or of a city . It is not good for us to see overmuch of our fellow - creatures ...
˹éÒ 5
... pure Tory , and has nothing of the hybrid in him . Such a nook have I found , and , grateful to Heaven , who has anchored me in a quiet harbour at last , I christen it , ' Rest and be thankful . ' This was how I found it : — I have been ...
... pure Tory , and has nothing of the hybrid in him . Such a nook have I found , and , grateful to Heaven , who has anchored me in a quiet harbour at last , I christen it , ' Rest and be thankful . ' This was how I found it : — I have been ...
˹éÒ 11
... pure white pebbles , and bore away the yellow leaves as they fell one by one through the summer day upon the water . Shady the lanes are , even in the bare winter - time ; but there is an atmosphere of shade everywhere , not the shade ...
... pure white pebbles , and bore away the yellow leaves as they fell one by one through the summer day upon the water . Shady the lanes are , even in the bare winter - time ; but there is an atmosphere of shade everywhere , not the shade ...
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˹éÒ 321 - Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming ; it stirreth up the dead for thee, even all the chief ones of the earth; it hath raised up from their thrones all the kings of the nations.
˹éÒ 62 - Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last— far off— at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream ; but what am I ? An infant crying in the night ; An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.
˹éÒ 276 - I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ! My heart seemed full as it could hold ; There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So, hush, — I will give you this leaf to keep : See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand ! There, that is our secret: go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand.
˹éÒ 73 - Then spake Joshua to the Lord in the day when the Lord delivered up the Amorites before the children of Israel, and he said in the sight of Israel, Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon ; and thou, moon, in the valley of Ajalon.
˹éÒ 265 - Oh, the wild joys of living ! the leaping from rock up to rock, The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver shock Of the plunge in a pool's living water, the hunt of the bear, And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair.
˹éÒ 251 - As for Venice and her people, merely born to bloom and drop, "Here on earth they bore their fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop: "What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?
˹éÒ 125 - Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.
˹éÒ 261 - Praxed in a glory, and one Pan Ready to twitch the Nymph's last garment off. And Moses with the tables ... but I know Ye mark me not! What do they whisper thee, Child of my bowels, Anselm?
˹éÒ 45 - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves; And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
˹éÒ 276 - It was not her time to love ; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — And the sweet white brow is all of her.