This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1895 edition. Excerpt: ...cottage Muskoday.) SWEET music quivers on the balmy air, As sung by fancy or the tuneful breeze; Fair summer smiles triumphant everywhere, And yields her honeyed lips to loving bees. While shadow with the leaf and sunlight plays, And piping birds in chorus twitter soft, A bed of blossoms raises eager ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1895 edition. Excerpt: ...cottage Muskoday.) SWEET music quivers on the balmy air, As sung by fancy or the tuneful breeze; Fair summer smiles triumphant everywhere, And yields her honeyed lips to loving bees. While shadow with the leaf and sunlight plays, And piping birds in chorus twitter soft, A bed of blossoms raises eager sprays Unto a fleet of butterflies aloft. Oh, say, fair Flora, by what Circe power You lured these winged sailors from on high; Why tarry they within your garden bower, The while their brothers voyage in the sky? TO THE SWEET TE/I. 123 Did you intoxicate their little souls With perfumed nectar such as summer brews--The magic draught that brims your floral bowls, Your morning kisses, mixed with evening dews? On high, in airy ecstasy they sport; Across the sunlit sea, cloud-flecked like foam, They drift on rainbow sails from port to port, Forsaking captive brothers, still to roam. From East to West, from morning's rosy shore To purple realms beyond the sunset isles; From verdant earth to azure heaven they soar, And squander dreamy hours for countless miles. 124 TO THE SWEET TEA. Yet, fair sweet pea, oh little winged boat, I'll pluck your stem of bondage and disguise That, disenchanted, soft your soul may float Away to heaven with the butterflies. STARVING. ABEGGAR lay on a wayside bed, A stone for pillow beneath his head And dust for cover, and just the roar Of a street for lullaby, nothing more; Indeed he slept with the sleep that comes Of too much begging and scanty crumbs. And, He dreamed while sleeping lying there, He owned a palace of marvels rare; With gold and jewels and silk and plush And the cushions that weary limbs long to crush; But best of all there was food; he woke With eyes of longing and tears that choke. While: An old man...
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