] Beneath this thorn when I was young, This thorn that blooms so sweet, We loved to stretch our lazy limbs In summer's noon-tide heat.
— from The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Vol 1 and 2 by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

" Brother: We say again with this string of wampum, as we have now made our speech of condolement, we hope to raise you upon your feet, as you formerly used to be; for since our late loss, it seems you have been confined as one absent."
— from Life of Joseph Brant—Thayendanegea (Vol. II) Including the Border Wars of the American Revolution and Sketches of the Indian Campaigns of Generals Harmar, St. Clair, and Wayne; And Other Matters Connected with the Indian Relations of the United States and Great Britain, from the Peace of 1783 to the Indian Peace of 1795 by William L. (William Leete) Stone

She had never been married; and for the last five years had lived perfectly alone on an estate, that had descended to her through her mother, on the shores of Loch Lomond in Scotland.
— from Mathilda by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

In the most desperate straits of life love is still the fountain of all endurance, and if ever a man loved it was Robert Elsmere.
— from Robert Elsmere by Ward, Humphry, Mrs.

For this gold he had become involved in a dreadful complication which must cost him much misery, and sooner or later life itself, since he could not marry that beautiful savage Asika, and if he refused her she would certainly kill him in her outraged pride and fury.
— from A Yellow God: An Idol of Africa by H. Rider (Henry Rider) Haggard

In the most desperate straits of life, love is still the fountain of all endurance, and if ever a man loved it was Robert Elsmere.
— from Robert Elsmere by Ward, Humphry, Mrs.

From out of heaven in looks a pimpernel: I walk in morning scents of thyme and bean; Dewdrops on every stalk and bud and bell Flash, like a jewel-orchard, many roods; Glow ruby suns, which emerald suns would quell; Topaz saint-glories, sapphire beatitudes Blaze in the slanting sunshine all around; Above, the high-priest-lark, o'er fields and woods— Rich-hearted with his five eggs on the ground— The sacrifice bore through the veil of light, Odour and colour offering up in sound.— Filled heart-full thus with forms of lowly might And shapeful silences of lovely lore, I sat a child, happy with only sight, And for a time I needed nothing more.
— from The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2 by George MacDonald

All human activity apparently at an end, all sign of life lost in somber shadows.
— from The Sherrods by George Barr McCutcheon