C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Mrs. Osgood

An angel face! its sunny “wealth of hair,”

In radiant ripples, bathed the graceful throat

And dimpled shoulders.

An exile, ill in heart and frame,—

A wanderer, weary of the way;—

A stranger, without love’s sweet claim

On any heart, go where I may!

And yet we check and chide

The airy angels as they float about us,

With rules of so-called wisdom, till they grow

The same tame slaves to custom and the world.

Better confide and be deceiv’d,

A thousand times, by treacherous foes,

Than once accuse the innocent,

Or let suspicion mar repose.

Call me pet names, dearest! Call me thy bird,

That flies to thy breast at one cherishing word,

That folds its wild wings there, ne’er dreaming of flight,

That tenderly sings there in loving delight!

Oh! my sad heart keeps pining for one fond word,—

Call me pet names, dearest! Call me thy bird!

Did you ever hear

Of the frolic fairies dear?

They’re a blessed little race,

Peeping up in fancy’s face,

In the valley, on the hill,

By the fountain and the rill;

Laughing out between the leaves

That the loving summer weaves.

Fancy is a fairy, that can hear

Ever, the melody of nature’s voice,

And see all lovely visions that she will.

Give me the eloquent cheek,

When blushes burn and die

Like thine its changes speak,

The spirit’s purity.

He whom nature thus bereaves,

Is ever fancy’s favourite child;

For thee enchanted dreams she weaves

Of changeful beauty, bright and wild.

I cannot tell thee, hour by hour,

That I adore thee dearly;

I cannot talk of passion’s power—

But oh! I feel sincerely!

I love a hand that meets mine own

With grasp that causes some sensation.

The violet droops its soft and bashful brow,

But from its heart sweet incense fills the air;—

So rich within—so pure without—art thou,

With modest mien and soul of virtue rare.

Those laughing orbs, that borrow

From azure skies the light they wear,

Are like heaven—no sorrow

Can float o’er hues so fair.

To hallow’d duty

Here with a loyal and heroic heart,

Bind we our lives.

Within the oyster’s shell uncouth

The purest pearl may hide,

Trust me you’ll find a heart of truth

Within that rough outside.

Beneath her drooping lashes slept a world of eloquent meaning; passionate but pure, dreamy, subdued, but, oh, how beautiful!

Labor, all labor, is noble and holy.

Lie not down wearied ’neath Woe’s weeping willow; work with a stout heart and resolute will.

Love is the greatest of educators.

No grief so soft, no pain so sweet, as love’s delicious melancholy.

With strength to meet sorrow, and faith to endure.

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