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Never, dear father, love can be,Like the dear love I had for thee!
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AY, screen thy favourite dove, fair child,Ay, screen it if you may,-Yet I misdoubt thy trembling handWill scare the hawk away.
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Pure as the snow the summer sunNever at noon hath look'd upon, -Deep, as is the diamond wave,Hidden in the desart cave, -Changeless, as the greenest leavesOf the wreath the cypress weaves, -Hopeless, often, when most fond,Without hope or fear beyondIts own pale fidelity, -And this woman's love can be!
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From Castruccio
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There is a favourite in every family; and, generally speaking, that favourite is the most troublesome member in it.
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November's night is dark and drear,The dullest month of all the year.
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... oh! love will lastWhen all that made it happiness is past,-When all its hopes are as the glittering toysTime present offers, time to come destroys,-
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The scar of fire, the dint of steel,Are easier than Love's wounds to heal.
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Alas! that every lovely thingLives only but for withering,-That spring rainbows and summer shineEnd but in autumn's pale decline.
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How sweet on the breeze of the evening swellsThe vesper call of those soothing bells,Borne softly and dying in echoes away,Like a requiem sung to the parting day.
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Where, oh, where's the chain to fling,One that will chain Cupid's wing-One that will have longer powerThan the April sun or shower?
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Oh! what is memory but a giftWithin a ruin'd temple left,Recalling what its beauties were,And then presenting what they are.
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What a mistake rage is ! anger should never go beyond a sneer, if it really desires revenge.
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Oh, she had yet the task to learnHow often woman's heart must turnTo feed upon its own excessOf deep yet passionate tenderness!How much of grief the heart must proveThat yields a sanctuary to love!
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But youth is as a flowing stream, on whose current the shadow may rest but not remain.
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… who has not experienced, at some time or other, that words had all the relief of tears?
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We talk of unsophisticated nature-I should like to know where it is to be found.
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This volume was written for children. Miss Landon set out its purpose in the preface.
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-music's powerIs little felt in sunlit hour;But hear its voice when hopes depart,Like swallows, flying from the heartOn which the summer's late declineHas set a sadness and a sign;. . . . . .How deeply will the spirit feelThe lute, the song's sweet-voiced appeal;And how the heart drink in their sighsAs echoes they from Paradise.
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-to enjoy yourself is the easy method to give enjoyment to others; …
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Ill-timed admiration is enough to enrage a saint.
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We again repeat, that there is no temper so communicative as an imaginative one.