Naya: A Story of the Bighorn Country

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Rand, McNally, 1910 - 326 頁
 

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第 322 頁 - Now the day is over, Night is drawing nigh, Shadows of the evening Steal across the sky.
第 1 頁 - Away in Beauty's Bloom OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year; And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread: Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!
第 75 頁 - They waste us — ay — like April snow In the warm noon, we shrink away ; And fast they follow, as we go Toward the setting day — Till they shall fill the land, and we Are driven into the Western sea.
第 213 頁 - Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, Now green in youth, now withering on the ground ; Another race the following spring supplies, They fall successive, and successive rise: So generations in their course decay, So flourish these, when those are past away.
第 172 頁 - When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight...
第 324 頁 - Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; Farewell!
第 139 頁 - We ring the bells and we raise the strain. We hang up garlands everywhere And bid the tapers twinkle fair, And feast and frolic — and then we go Back to the same old lives again.
第 95 頁 - I thought at first the goblin-laugher stood at my bedside - or rather, crouched by my pillow: but I rose, looked round, and could see nothing; while, as I still gazed, the unnatural sound was reiterated: and I knew it came from behind the panels.
第 40 頁 - Which wanders through the waste air's pathless blue To nourish some far desert; she did seem Beside me, gathering beauty as she grew, Like the bright shade of some immortal dream, Which walks when tempest sleeps the wave of life's dark stream.
第 104 頁 - As some lone miser, visiting his store, Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er : Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still...

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