Everyday objects, or, Picturesque aspects of natural history, ed. and enlarged [from ser. 2 of Les saisons, by J.C.F. Hoefer] by W.H.D. Adams

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Page 7 - Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Page 215 - twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there : Two paradises 'twere in one, To live in paradise alone. How well the skilful gardener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new; Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run, And, as it works, the industrious bee Computes its time as well as we ! How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers...
Page 286 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Page 245 - And all at once they sang, ' Our island home Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam...
Page 272 - TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET LEIGH HUNT Green little' vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June — Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon When even the bees lag at the summoning brass...
Page 373 - Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Page 398 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear. A lily of a day Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be.
Page 30 - The keener tempests come: and, fuming dun From all the livid east or piercing north, Thick clouds ascend, in whose capacious womb A vapoury deluge lies, to snow congealed. Heavy they roll their fleecy world along, And the sky saddens with the gathered storm. Through the hushed air the whitening shower descends, At first thin-wavering; till at last the flakes Fall broad and wide and fast, dimming the day With a continual flow.
Page 148 - Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising : And many a fond and idle name I give to thee, for praise or blame, As is the humour of the game, While I am gazing.
Page 243 - Rapaciously we gathered flowery spoils From land and water ; lilies of each hue — Golden and white, that float upon the waves, And court the wind ; and leaves of that shy plant, (Her flowers were shed) the lily of the vale, That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds Her pensive beauty; from the breeze her sweets.

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