PHRENOLOGY PINK
The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift,
That no philosophy^ can lift.
Wordsworth - Presentiments.
Why should not grave Philosophy be styled.
Herself, a dreamer of a kindred stock,
A dreamer, yet more spiritless and dull?
Wordsworth—The Excursion. Bk. III.
PHRENOLOGY
'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so long, and yet no knowledge he
Has had, till lately, of Phrenology—
A science that by simple dint of
Head-combing he should find a hint of,
When scratching o'er those little pole-hills
The faculties throw up like mole hills.
Hood—Craniology.
PIGEON
Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled
there;
My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit,
Their branches spread a city to the air.
Christina G. Rossetti—From House to Home.
St. 7.
With his mouth full of news
Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their
young.
As You Like It. Act I. Sc. 2. L. 98.
Thou pigeon-egg of discretion.
Love's Labour's Lost. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 75.
This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease.
Love's Labour's Lost. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 315.
'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
There's a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;
And I often stop with the fear I feel—
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.
Willis—The Belfry Pigeon.
PINE
Pinus
Shaggy shade
Of desert-loving pine, whose emerald scalp
Nods to the storm.
Byron—The Prophecy of Dante. Canto II.
L.63.
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines.
Coleridge—Hymn Before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni.
'Twas on the inner bark, stripped from the pine,
Our father pencilled this epistle rare;
Two blazing pine knots did his torches shine,
Two braided pallets formed his desk and chair.
Durfee—WhalrCheer. Canto II.
As sunbeams stream through liberal space
And nothing jostle or displace,
So waved the pine-tree through my thought
And fanned the dreams it never brought.
Emerson—Woodnotes. II.
Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
The arch beneath them is not built with stones,
Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
And carved this graceful arabasque of vines;
No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones,
No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
And learn there may be worship without words.
| author = Longfellow
| work = Sonnets. My Cathedral.
Under the yaller pines I house.
When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented,
An' hear among their furry boughs
The baskin' west-wind purr contented.
| author = Lowell
| work = The Biglow Payers. Second Series.
No. 10.
The pine is the mother of legends.
| author = Lowell
| work = The Growth of a Legend.
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves,
Of pine.
| author = Milton
| work = Il Penseroso. L. 133.
Here also grew the rougher rinded pine,
The great Argoan ship's brave ornament.
Spenser—Virgil's Gnat. L. 209.
is Ancient Pines,
Ye bear no record of the years of man.
Spring is your sole historian.
Bayard Taylor—The Pine Forest of Monterey.
Stately Pines,
But few more years around the promontory
Your chant will meet the thunders of the sea.
Bayard Taylor—The Pine Forest of Monterey.
PINK
Dianthus
You take a pink,
You dig about its roots and water it,
And so improve it to a garden-pink,
But will not change it to a heliotrope.
E. B. Browning—Aurora Leigh. Bk. VI.
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear,
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms
without a peer. _ *
Burns—Luve WiU'Venture In.
The beauteous pink I would not slight.
Pride of the gardener's leisure.
Goethe—The Floweret Wondrous Fair. St. 8.
John S, Dwiqht's trans.
