Crowding Memories

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Houghton Mifflin, 1920 - Authors, American - 295 pages

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Page 50 - The moon shines bright : — In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise...
Page 124 - I learned it in England, where, indeed, they are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander— Drink, ho!— are nothing to your English.
Page 11 - THERE are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. We are stronger, and are better, Under manhood's sterner reign: Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again. Something beautiful is vanished, And we sigh for it in vain: We behold it everywhere, On the earth, and in the air, But it never comes again.
Page 277 - And this is good old Boston, The home of the bean and the cod, Where the Lowells talk to the Cabots And the Cabots talk only to God.
Page 110 - T'HE Summer comes and the Summer goes; Wild-flowers are fringing the dusty lanes, The swallows go darting through fragrant rains, Then, all of a sudden — it snows. Dear Heart, our lives so happily flow, So lightly we heed the flying hours, We only know Winter is gone — by the flowers, We only know Winter is come — by the snow.
Page 145 - Aldrich was always brilliant, he couldn't help it, he is a fire-opal set round with rose diamonds; when he is not speaking, you know that his dainty fancies are twinkling and glimmering around in him; when he speaks the diamonds flash. Yes, he was always brilliant, he will always be brilliant; he will be brilliant in hell — you will see.
Page 122 - I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize; Now to the maid who has none, sir: Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, And here's to the nymph with but one, sir.
Page 18 - At last he came, the messenger, The messenger from unseen lands: And what did dainty Baby Bell ? She only crossed her little hands, She only looked more meek and fair! We parted back her silken hair, We wove the roses round her brow, White buds, the summer's drifted snow, Wrapt her from head to foot in flowers! And thus went dainty Baby Bell Out of this world of ours!
Page 39 - One that had learned to value, far above The name of love, the sacred name of wife. Her little life-dream, rounded so with sleep, Had all there is of life, except gray hairs, — Hope, love, trust, passion and devotion deep; And that mysterious tie a Mother bears.
Page 229 - They tell me every day is there Not more nor less than Sunday gay: In shining robes and garments fair The people walk upon their way. One gazes there on castle walls As grand as those of Babylon, A bishop and two generals! I do not know fair Carcassonne, I do not know fair Carcassonne!

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