Salad for the social: by the author of 'Salad for the solitary'.

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R. Bentley, 1856 - 358 pÓgines

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PÓgina 158 - EVEN such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust!
PÓgina 178 - Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May ! that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing; Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
PÓgina 335 - The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made: Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home. Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.
PÓgina 328 - From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed...
PÓgina 333 - Every thing did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity. "Fie, fie, fie!
PÓgina 79 - HE that loves a rosy Cheek, Or a coral Lip admires ; Or from star-like Eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires : As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away ! But a smooth and steadfast Mind, Gentle Thoughts, and calm Desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires ! Where these are not ; I despise Lovely Cheeks ! or Lips ! or Eyes...
PÓgina 182 - Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours ; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven ; And how they might have borne more welcome news.
PÓgina 69 - There is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies grow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow. There cherries grow which none may buy Till 'Cherry-ripe
PÓgina 117 - The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted.
PÓgina 241 - But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone...

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