The Sylvan Year: Leaves from the Note-book of Raoul Dubois

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Roberts Brothers, 1876 - 243 pages

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Page 74 - So fast they follow : your sister "s drown'd, Laertes. Laer. Drown'd ! O, where ? Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them...
Page 164 - There's fennel for you, and columbines; there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o
Page 74 - And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot.
Page 83 - FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon : As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along.
Page 202 - It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word ; And gentle winds, and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure...
Page 15 - Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura Che la diritta via era smarrita.
Page 181 - Dum iuga montis aper, fluvios dum piscis amabit, dumque thymo pascentur apes, dum rore cicadae, semper honos nomenque tuum laudesque manebunt. Ut Baccho Cererique, tibi sic vota quotannis agricolae facient ; damnabis tu quoque votis.
Page 81 - Flits by the sea-blue bird of March; Come, wear the form by which I know Thy spirit in time among thy peers; The hope of unaccomplish'd years Be large and lucid round thy brow. When summer's hourly-mellowing change May breathe, with many roses sweet, Upon the thousand waves of wheat, That ripple round the...
Page 61 - Nor wife, nor children more shall he behold, Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, Lays him along the snows, a stiffen'd Corse, 320 Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blast.
Page 98 - Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave? What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?" And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: "I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, And the wild water lapping on the crag.

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