May its index point to joy, And moments wing'd with new delights. Sweet may resound each silver bell, And never quick returning chime, Seem in reproving notes to tell, Of hours mispent, and murder'd time. Charlotte Turner Smith More Quotes by Charlotte Turner Smith More Quotes From Charlotte Turner Smith In following their line through, and those of Plantagenet and Tudor, there is but little to soothe the mind. Charlotte Turner Smith tudors lines mind Silene, who declines The garish noontide's blazing light; But when the evening crescent shines, Gives all her sweetness to the night. Charlotte Turner Smith light flower night If conquest does not bind posterity, so neither can compact bind it. Charlotte Turner Smith compact conquest doe
