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Her face betokened all things dear and good,
The light of somewhat yet to come was there
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Her face betokened all things dear and good,
The light of somewhat yet to come was there
Asleep, and waiting for the opening day,
When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.
Cheek . . .
Flushing white and mellow'd red;
Gradual tints, as when there glows
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Cheek . . .
Flushing white and mellow'd red;
Gradual tints, as when there glows
In snowy milk the bashful rose.
And to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on read more
And to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him.
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
These faces in the mirrors
Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself.
It is the common wonder of all men, how among so many millions of
faces there should be none read more
It is the common wonder of all men, how among so many millions of
faces there should be none alike.
A face that had a story to tell. How different faces are in this
particular! Some of them speak read more
A face that had a story to tell. How different faces are in this
particular! Some of them speak not. They are books in which not
a line is written, save perhaps a date.
Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.
Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.
The face the index of a feeling mind.
The face the index of a feeling mind.
