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Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway.
Out of the solar walk and Heaven's highway.
The sun, too, shines into cesspools, and is not polluted.
The sun, too, shines into cesspools, and is not polluted.
Such words fall to often on our cold and careless ears with the
triteness of long familiarity; but to read more
Such words fall to often on our cold and careless ears with the
triteness of long familiarity; but to Octavia . . . they seemed
to be written in sunbeams.
If you want a place in the sun, you've got to put up with a few blisters.
If you want a place in the sun, you've got to put up with a few blisters.
Make hay while the sun shines.
Make hay while the sun shines.
The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as
pure as before.
The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as
pure as before.
High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day.
High in his chariot glow'd the lamp of day.
She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of read more
She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
