Sweet, Those Trammels of You Hair

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Beauty is a lovely sweet Camilla fair tript o'er the plain [caption title, f.


  • Bateson, Thomas: Sweet those trammels of your hair (SAT);
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O fly not, love, O fly not me Fond love is blind Hark hear you not a heavenly harmony Have I found her Her hair the net of golden wire Holie, Lord God allmightie If I seek to enjoy If love be blind, how hath he then the sight Invitation to Madrigals 1 a graded selection of 25 three-part works for SAB Life of my life, how should I live alas A 5 voix Love is the fire that burns me Love would discharge the duty of his heart Madrigals, 1st set Madrigals, 1st set.

Nightingale so soon as April Madrigals, 1st set. Phyllis, farewell Madrigals, 1st set. Sister, awake Madrigals, 1st set. Those sweet delightful lilies Madrigals, 1st set. Whither so fast? Madrigals, 2nd set Madrigals, 2nd set. Down the hills Corinna trips Madrigals, 2nd set. If floods of tears Man first created was in single life Merrily my love and I music collection at the Bodleian Library, Oxford Music some think no music is My mistress after service due The nightingale in silent night One woman scare of twenty A 3 voix Orianaes farewell Phyllis, farewell! Roosevelt, T.

Stein, G. Stevenson, R. Wells, H. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. When you see fair hair, be pitiful.


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George Eliot. The ungrown glories of his beamy hair.

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Sweet girl graduates, in their golden hair. Robed in the long night of her deep hair. Thy fair hair my heart enchained. Sir Philip Sidney. The robe which curious Nature weaves to hang upon the head. How ill white hairs become a fool and jester! Comb down his hair; look, look! Make false hair, and thatch your poor thin roofs with burthens of the dead. Loose his beard and hoary hair streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air.

For deadly fear can time outgo, and blanch at once the hair. Sir Walter Scott. There seems a life in hair, though it be dead. We are kept keen on the grindstone of pain and necessity, and, it seemed to me, that here was that hateful grindstone broken at last! Possibly the checks they had devised for the increase of population had succeeded too well, and their numbers had rather diminished than kept stationary. That would account for the abandoned ruins. Very simple was my explanation, and plausible enough—as most wrong theories are!

The bright little figures ceased to move about below, a noiseless owl flitted by, and I shivered with the chill of the night. I determined to descend and find where I could sleep. Then my eye travelled along to the figure of the White Sphinx upon the pedestal of bronze, growing distinct as the light of the rising moon grew brighter. I could see the silver birch against it.

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There was the tangle of rhododendron bushes, black in the pale light, and there was the little lawn. I looked at the lawn again. A queer doubt chilled my complacency. For the white leprous face of the sphinx was towards it. Can you imagine what I felt as this conviction came home to me? But you cannot. The Time Machine was gone! The bare thought of it was an actual physical sensation. I could feel it grip me at the throat and stop my breathing. In another moment I was in a passion of fear and running with great leaping strides down the slope.

Once I fell headlong and cut my face; I lost no time in stanching the blood, but jumped up and ran on, with a warm trickle down my cheek and chin. All the time, with the certainty that sometimes comes with excessive dread, I knew that such assurance was folly, knew instinctively that the machine was removed out of my reach. My breath came with pain. I suppose I covered the whole distance from the hill crest to the little lawn, two miles perhaps, in ten minutes.

And I am not a young man. I cursed aloud, as I ran, at my confident folly in leaving the machine, wasting good breath thereby. I cried aloud, and none answered. Not a creature seemed to be stirring in that moonlit world.

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Not a trace of the thing was to be seen. I felt faint and cold when I faced the empty space among the black tangle of bushes. I ran round it furiously, as if the thing might be hidden in a corner, and then stopped abruptly, with my hands clutching my hair. Above me towered the sphinx, upon the bronze pedestal, white, shining, leprous, in the light of the rising moon. It seemed to smile in mockery of my dismay. That is what dismayed me: the sense of some hitherto unsuspected power, through whose intervention my invention had vanished.

Yet, for one thing I felt assured: unless some other age had produced its exact duplicate, the machine could not have moved in time. The attachment of the levers—I will show you the method later—prevented any one from tampering with it in that way when they were removed. It had moved, and was hid, only in space. But then, where could it be? I remember running violently in and out among the moonlit bushes all round the sphinx, and startling some white animal that, in the dim light, I took for a small deer.

I remember, too, late that night, beating the bushes with my clenched fist until my knuckles were gashed and bleeding from the broken twigs.

Beyond the City, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Then, sobbing and raving in my anguish of mind, I went down to the great building of stone. The big hall was dark, silent, and deserted. I slipped on the uneven floor, and fell over one of the malachite tables, almost breaking my shin.

source I lit a match and went on past the dusty curtains, of which I have told you. I have no doubt they found my second appearance strange enough, coming suddenly out of the quiet darkness with inarticulate noises and the splutter and flare of a match.


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For they had forgotten about matches. It must have been very queer to them. Some laughed, most of them looked sorely frightened.

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When I saw them standing round me, it came into my head that I was doing as foolish a thing as it was possible for me to do under the circumstances, in trying to revive the sensation of fear. For, reasoning from their daylight behaviour, I thought that fear must be forgotten. I heard cries of terror and their little feet running and stumbling this way and that.