United States or French Southern Territories ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Lorch, the mother, is a good cook, at least, I am always glad to take supper with her, and I think I could persuade her to let this young woman partake of the family table. The daughter, Mrs. Andersen, is musical, too, and sings in the Mozart Society. I think they might like to have a music student in the house. You speak German, I suppose?" he turned to Thea. "Oh, no; a few words.
The robin sings in autumn, and it seemed strange to Owen to hear this bird singing a solitary little tune just as he sings it in England a melancholy little tune, quite different from the lark's passionate outpouring, just its own quaint little avowal, somewhat autobiographical, a human little admission that life, after all, is a very sad thing even to the robin?
Yes, ma'am, I don't know much about music myself, but I c'n beat time, an' he's got a stack o' music more'n a mile high, an' one o' the songs he sings 'll jest make the windows rattle. That's my fav'rit," averred Mr. Harum. "Do you remember the name of it?" asked Miss Clara.
With contrasted remembrance he went back to the guarded procession of boys from the lyceum in France, the flower-stalls, and the bird-market, the larks singing merrily in their small wicker cages. Yes, he had them the two lines he wanted a poet's condensed statement of the thought he could not fully phrase: Ah! the lark! He hath the heaven which he sings, But my poor hawk hath only wings.
Those are the blackest and most horrible moments of life; and yet even so we live on. As I write at my ease I see the velvety grass green on the rich pasture; the tall spires of the chestnut perch, and poise, and sway in the sun; a thrush sings hidden in the orchard; it is all caressingly, enchantingly beautiful, and I am well content to be alive.
We weave our melodies from spring's soft air; Sure such sweet sounds will banish all thy care. Do not go forth to wander on the waste, For there, they say, pale sorrows dimly haste. JULIA sings. Sweet grief, I have loved thee so long, I cannot leave thee now; They woo me with music and song; Here at thy feet I bow.
There may be inducements to this or that one of us, at this or that moment, to find delight in him, to cleave to him; but after all, we do not change the truth about him, we only stay ourselves in his inn along with him. And when we come across a poet like Wordsworth, who sings
"That's the Hip Sings," the reporter said, pulling Hamilton into the shadow of a doorway, "the Ong Leongs have been waiting for them, ever since that affair in the theater." "What was that?" asked Hamilton, although more interested in the immediate excitement than the story. "Time of the Chinese New Year," the reporter answered in short, crisp sentences.
But, oh, if the pain might stop, if the pain might stop! The robin sings now, because the spring is here; but it is not always spring. And some day perhaps not this winter, but some day the dear little brown body will agonize it will die alone, in the horrible great universe; one thinks little of a robin, but it agonizes all the same when its time comes; it agonizes all the same."
Carlos, on hearing of his intention to go with us, exclaimed, "I am very glad of it; he'll make a capital companion: he sings a good song, and I dare say will prove a good shot."
Word Of The Day