Emma Marshall: A Biographical Sketch

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E.P. Dutton, 1901 - 342 páginas
 

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Página 333 - Life ! we've been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear : — Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time ; Say not ' Good night ' — but in some brighter clime Bid me
Página 258 - SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me ! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, . Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho...
Página 109 - One who never turned his back but marched breast forward. Never doubted clouds would break. Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph. Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better. Sleep to wake.
Página 333 - FEAR no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages ; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o...
Página 171 - Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead thou me on ! The night is dark and I am far from home; Lead thou me on ! Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene; one step enough for me.
Página 80 - In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed. Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and...
Página 125 - WHEN the summer fields are mown, When the birds are fledged and flown. And the dry leaves strew the path ; With the falling of the snow, With the cawing of the crow, Once again the fields we mow And gather in the aftermath. Not the sweet, new grass with flowers Is this harvesting of ours ; Not the upland clover bloom ; But the rowen mixed with weeds, Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, ' Where the poppy drops its seeds, In the silence and the gloom.
Página 53 - On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.

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