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" I would not trust my heart ; — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might — But no : — what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into... "
A Manual of English Literature, and of the History of the English Language ... - Страница 436
по George Lillie Craik - 1863 - 536 страници
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The Young Lady's Book of Elegant Poetry: Comprising Selections from the ...

Author of The young man's own book - 1836 - 336 страници
...the while, Could those few pleasant hours again appear, Might one wish bring them, would 1 wish them here? I would not trust my heart, — the dear delight...much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbounded spirit into bonds again. Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast, The storms all weather'd,...

The Reader and Speaker: Containing Lessons for Rhetorical Reading and ...

Samuel Putnam - 1836 - 226 страници
...and smile,) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Wight one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might — But no — what here we call our life is such, So little to be lov'd,...

The Works of William Cowper, Esq: Comprising His Poems ..., Том 10

William Cowper - 1837 - 436 страници
...and smile.) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? I would not trust my heart ; — the dear delight...to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs...

The Book of Gems: Pomfret to Bloomfield

Samuel Carter Hall - 1837 - 362 страници
...desir'd, perhaps I might. — But no — what here we call our life is such, So little to be lov'd, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to...Albion's coast (The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross *d) Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,...

The Book of Gems: Pomfret to Bloomfield

Samuel Carter Hall - 1837 - 448 страници
...and smile,) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might. — But no — what here we call our life is such, ' So* little to be lov'd,...

Poems; to which is prefixed a memoir of the author by J. M'Diarmid

William Cowper - 1837 - 534 страници
...and smile) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them , would I wish them here ? I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might. — But no— what here we call our life is such, So little to be lov'd,...

The Book of Gems: Pomfret to Bloomfield

Samuel Carter Hall - 1837 - 438 страници
...and smile,) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might. — But no — what here we call our life is such, So little to be lov'd,...

The poetic reciter; or, Beauties of the British poets: adapted for reading ...

Henry Marlen - 1838 - 342 страници
...and smile) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I migh. — But no — what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved, and thou so much, That...

The Poetical Works of William Cowper

William Cowper - 1839 - 554 страници
...and smile) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ! I would not trust my heart ; — the dear delight...Albion's coast (The storms all weather'd and the ocean eross'd) Shoots into port at some well haven'd isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,...

Reading Book for the Use of Female Schools

1839 - 428 страници
...would not trust my heart—the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.— But, no—what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved,...Albion's coast, (The storms all weather'd, and the ocean cross'd,) Shoots into port at some well favour'd isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,...




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