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Her face was in the clouds of evening, in the sea-coal fire by night; her spirit in the dreams of summer morns, in the hopeless breakers on the stormy shores, in the useless, endless effort of the sea.
By her do flowers seem less bright, And she is such a glorious sight As, on May morns, the golden sun which lights up hill and lea But froward maids delight us not, with all their bravery."
And what of the delights of these gardens—their exquisite grounds and gentle breezes, their purling streams, their soughing winds, their cooing doves and rustling leaves? Where now are their resplendent morns and their brightsome countenances wreathed in smiles? Alas for them! All have perished and are gone to rest beneath a canopy of dust.
Of the greatness of night he sang, and dead morns, and dropping stars; of dear forgotten things and loves that might have been, that may not be; of passion and unfulfilled desires, and through the pines the song entered her heart like a response. She listened, not as a girl listening to a bird, but as one artist listens to another with a rapture of appreciation. And the music comforted her.
The great Father gives His children a world brimming over with joy, with laughing meadows, with smiling morns, with rippling bird song, and to man He gives faculties of immeasurable happiness. Life is learning the law of happiness and practicing its use and service. But what is the secret of happiness? How can we learn to be happy when life has so much to make us sad?
He was with me everywhere, lightening my labor with his prattling tongue, helping me with his sweet, hindering ways; and when the kisses had been many that had waked him many morns, he stood beside me, my little boy, hardly a hand's breadth lower than myself. The world had changed for all but him and me. But he and I remained alone in the old homestead, and walked together sweetly down the years.
By her do flowers seem less bright, And she is such a glorious sight As, on May morns, the golden sun which lights up hill and lea But froward maids delight us not, with all their bravery."
"I am not so sure of that, captain, I think I should prefer all sinking or swimming together." "At any rate, Madam," added the captain, "having unburdened my mind, I'll leave you to sleep over the matter. Tak time to consider, and let me know your wull in the morning." Not all the taking time to consider, "nor all the morns" that ever came reconciled Schillie to the captain's plan.
Dusky shadows under the melancholy brown eyes made them appear darker, deeper, almost prophetic, and over her lips drifted a fragment from "Regret" "Oh that word Regret! There have been nights and morns, when we have sighed, 'Let us alone Regret!
By her do flowers seem less bright, And she is such a glorious sight As, on May morns, the golden sun which lights up hill and lea But froward maids delight us not, with all their bravery."
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