Forest Hill

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don't think impossible

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Page 36 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Page 206 - Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura Che la diritta via era smarrita.
Page 89 - A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Page 83 - Those chimes that tell a thousand tales, Sweet tales of olden time ! And ring a thousand memories At vesper, and at prime ; At bridal, and at burial, For cottager and king — Those...
Page 119 - My life is dreary, He cometh not,' she said; She said, 'I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!
Page 281 - All my life long, I have beheld with most respect the man Who knew himself, and knew the ways before him, And from amongst them chose considerately, With a clear foresight, not a blindfold courage ; And having chosen, with a steadfast mind Pursued his purposes.
Page 274 - And all together pray. While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay!
Page 247 - STRANGER, if thou hast learned a truth which needs No school of long experience, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares, To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood S And view the haunts of Nature.
Page 75 - Whatever passes as a cloud between The mental eye of faith and things unseen, Causing that brighter world to disappear, Or seem less lovely, and its hope less dear ; This is our world, our idol, though it bear Affection's impress, or devotion's air.
Page 247 - And the infant shrinks to its mother's breast. And though her dying voice be mute, Or faint as the tones of an unstrung lute, And though the glow from her cheek be fled, And her pale lips cold as the marble dead, Her eye still beams unwonted fires With a woman's love and a saint's desires...

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