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Updated: June 6, 2025
"Can the moon be hidden?" Then said El Mamoun to her, "What is thy name, O damsel?" "My name is Curret el Ain, O Commander of the Faithful," replied she; and he said, "Sing to us, O Curret el Ain." So she sang the following verses: The loved ones passed from thee in middle midnight's shade And fared forth in the dawn, with the pilgrims' cavalcade.
He slipped the bit out of Midnight's mouth, pushing the headstall back on the sleek black neck by way of lead rope, and they strode away to the water pen, side by side. When they came back a nose-bag, full of corn, stood ready near the fire. Pete hung this on Midnight's head. Midnight munched contentedly, with half-closed eyes, and Pete turned to the fire. "Was I kidding myself?" he inquired.
"''Tis midnight's holy hour," he quoted, "'and silence now is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er a still and pulseless world. Bryce, old chap, this is one of those occasions where silence is golden. Speak not. I'll do it for you.
And all that swearing's got to be done at midnight, in the lonesomest, awfulest place you can find a ha'nted house is the best, but they're all ripped up now." "Well, midnight's good, anyway, Tom." "Yes, so it is. And you've got to swear on a coffin, and sign it with blood." "Now, that's something LIKE! Why, it's a million times bullier than pirating.
Filmy floats the wild woodbine, Jonquil, jacinth, jessamine, Float and flow. Sleeps the water wild and wan, As in far off Toltecan Mexico. See, upon the sun-dial, Waves the midnight's misty pall, Waves and wakes. As, in tropic Timbuctoo, Water beasts go plashing through Lilied lakes!
They were ushered up to the reception-room, where Countess Ammiani, Vittoria, and Carlo sat, awaiting the visitor whose unexpected name, cast in their midst at so troubled a season, had clothed her with some of the midnight's terrors. Barto Rizzo had silence about him without having to ask for it, when he followed Violetta into Countess Ammiani's saloon of reception.
You never left your father's house alone to squander the hours of midnight's sacred silence in wrong doing Then I hope you will never forget the debt of gratitude you must owe to such a counsellor and friend. Then comes "The tangled web we weave When first we practice to deceive." At first you were a little unfortunate, may be.
The clear olive skin, eyes of gray twilight, eyebrows like midnight's own arches, and luxuriant hair, were touched by grief as if a goddess suffered; and, in her deep mourning robes, Vesta seemed a monarch's daughter about to pass through some convent to her sainthood. She had the height to give dignity to this beauty, and the grace to lift pathos above weakness.
Thus, with somewhat of the seer, Must the moral pioneer, From the future borrow; Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, And on midnight's sky of rain Paint the golden morrow. The Need for Certainty. One of the most obvious lessons to be learned from a study of church history is a lesson teaching the necessity of the positive note in the pulpit.
"He has been gone for nearly a week now," Glen continued, "and I wonder what can be keeping him. Do you think he will come to-night?" "Sconda doesn't know. Big white chief alone knows." Glen laughed and stroked Midnight's neck with an impatient hand. "I guess you are right, Sconda. Daddy alone knows what he is going to do, for he never tells me, at any rate.
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