Can I View Thee Panting, Lying On

Spring Flew Swiftly By, And Summer Came; And If The Village Had Been Beautiful At First, It Was Now In The Full Glow And Luxuriance Of Its Richness. The Great Trees, Which Had Looked Shrunken And Bare In The Earlier Months, Had Now Burst Into Strong Life And Health; And Stretching Forth Their Green Arms Over The Thirsty Ground, Converted Open And Naked Spots Into Choice Nooks, Where Was A Deep And Pleasant Shade From Which To Look Upon The Wide Prospect, Steeped In Sunshine, Which Lay Stretched Out Beyond.

"drink With Me, My Dear," Said Mr. Weller. "put Your Lips To This Here Tumbler, And Then I Can Kiss You By Deputy."

Opening Her Eyes Again, And Seeing Her Husband's Face Across The Table, She Leaned Forward To Give It A Pat On The Cheek, And Sat Down To Supper, Declaring It To Be The Best Face In The World.

If I May So Express It, I Was Steeped In Dora. I Was Not Merely Over Head And Ears In Love With Her, But I Was Saturated Through And Through. Enough Love Might Have Been Wrung Out Of Me, Metaphorically Speaking, To Drown Anybody In; And Yet There Would Have Remained Enough Within Me, And All Over Me, To Pervade My Entire Existence.

Old Marley Was As Dead As A Doornail. Mind! I Don't Mean To Say That, Of My Own Knowledge, What There Is Particularly Dead About A Doornail. I Might Have Been Inclined, Myself, To Regard A Coffin-nail As The Deadest Piece Of Ironmongery In The Trade. But The Wisdom Of Our Ancestors Is In The Simile; And My Unhallowed Hands Shall Not Disturb It, Or The Country's Done For. You Will Therefore Permit Me To Repeat, Emphatically, That Marley Was As Dead As A Doornail.