And nipt the stubborn grass and juicier flowers
With one unconscious inobservant hand,
While crept the other by degrees more near
Until it rose the cherisht form around,
And prest it closer, only that the ear
Might lean, and deeper drink some half-heard
sound.
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MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel;
O, if you felt the pain I feel!But O, who ever felt as I?No longer could I doubt him true-All other men may use deceit;He always said my eyes were blue,And often swore my lips were sweet.
THERE falls with every wedding chime
You pick it up, and say “How fairTo look upon its colors are!”Another drops day after dayUnheeded; not one word you say.When bright and dusky are blown past,Upon the hearse there nods the last.
HOW many verses have I thrown
Peculiar word, the wanted most,Was irrecoverably lost!
MANY love music but for music’s sake;
Thoughts that repose within the breast half dead,And rise to follow where she loves to lead.What various feelings come from days gone by!What tears from far-off sources dim the eye!Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play,And melodies swell, pause, and melt away,Mind how at every touch, at every tone,A spark of life hath glisten’d…
Zoe: Changed? very true, O Theron, I am changed.
To hold a moment back from me the briarYou let recoil thus sharply or my breast.Not long ago, not very long, you own’dWith maiden blushes, which became your browBetter than corn-flower, or that periwinkleTrained round it by a very careful hand,A long while trimming it (no doubt) and proudOf making its blue blossom laugh at…
From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass
Your pleasures spring like daisies in the grass,Cut down, and up again as blithe as ever.