But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies.
Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts are thoughts of me.
There's nothing in this world so sweet as love. And next to love the sweetest thing is hate.
People demand freedom only when they have no power.
He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
Commissioned by high-thundering Zeus, to lead a maiden to Prometheus, in his tower.
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.
There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it.
Decide not rashly. The decision made
Can never be recalled. The gods implore not,
Plead not, solicit not; they only offer
Choice and occasion, which once being passed
Return no more. Dost thou accept the gift?
For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
Into each life some rain must fall.
Into each life some rain must fall, some days be dark and dreary.
Nor deem the irrevocable Past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
Youth wrenches the sceptre from old age, and sets the crown on its own head before it is entitled to it.
The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary,
And I am near to fall, infirm and weary.
The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.
We have not wings we cannot soar; but, we have feet to scale and climb, by slow degrees, by more and more, the cloudy summits of our time.
Like a French poem is life; being only perfect in structure when with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are.
The twilight that surrounds the border-land of old romance.
It is a beautiful trait in the lover's character, that they think no evil of the object loved.
If the mind, that rules the body, ever so far forgets itself as to trample on its slave, the slave is never generous enough to forgive the injury, but will rise and smite the oppressor.
There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye.
Your silent tents of green
We deck with fragrant flowers;
Yours has the suffering been,
The memory shall be ours.
The Nile, forever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled.
Love is a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than animate faith and love, as flowers are the animate springtide.
The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain.
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
What child has a heart to sing in this capricious clime of ours, when spring comes sailing in from the sea, with wet and heavy cloud-sails and the misty pennon of the east-wind nailed to the mast.
Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.
One if by land, two if by sea.
There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.
Know how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong.
The holiest of all holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; the secret anniversaries of the heart.
Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close.
Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose.
Joy and temperance and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose.
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Sail on ship of state, sail on, I union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, with all its hopes of future years, is hanging on thy fate!
Critics are sentinels in the grand army of letters, stationed at the corners of newspapers and reviews, to challenge every new author.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall.
No action, whether foul or fair, Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere A record, written by fingers ghostly, As a blessing or a curse, and mostly In the greater weakness or greater strength Of the acts which follow it.
Straight between them ran the pathway,
Never grew the grass upon it.
No endeavour is in vain; Its reward is in the doing.
I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms.
Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher.
Chill air and wintry winds! My ear has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long.
The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air.
I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.
From labor there shall come forth rest.
Prayer is innocence's friend; and willingly flieth incessant 'twist the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven.
In December ring Every day the chimes; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!
Nature is a revelation of God; Art a revelation of man.
The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed.
A feeling of sadness and longing, that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles the rain.
Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.
In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face the face of one long dead Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
If you once understand an author's character, the comprehension of his writings becomes easy.
O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again.
But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages, Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust.
Sang in tones of deep emotion Songs of love and songs of longing.
Thou shalt learn
The wisdom early to discern
True beauty in utility.
In youth all doors open outward; in old age all open inward.
Be strong! Be good! Be pure!
The right only shall endure;
And all things else are but false pretenses.
There are no birds in last year's nest.
Be thy sleep
Silent as night is, and as deep.
The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead.
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike.
A thought often makes us hotter than a fire.
It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
And the bright faces of my young companions
Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more.
The strength of criticism lies in the weakness of the thing criticized.
A sermon is no sermon in which I cannot hear the heartbeat.
Music is the universal language of mankind.
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.
Love gives itself; it is not bought.
Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.
A word that has been said may be unsaid -- it is but air. But when a deed is done, it cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow.
These stars of earth, these golden flowers.
At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.
Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep, All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, and all is o'er, A plunge, a bubble, and no more.
The human voice is the organ of the soul.
Each new epoch in life seems an encounter. There is a tussle and a cloud of dust, and we come out of it triumphant or crest-fallen, according as we have borne ourselves.
White swan of cities slumbering in thy nest ... White phantom city, whose untrodden streets Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting Shadows of the palaces and strips of sky.
Authors must not, like Chinese soldiers, expect to win victories by turning somersets in the air.
Resolve and thou art free.
So nature deals with us, and takes away our play things one by one, and by the hand leads us to rest.
The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds.
For next to being a great poet is the power of understanding one.
Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise,
Having naught else but Hope.
Would you learn the secret of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers, comprehend its mystery!
Stars of earth, these golden flowers; emblems of our own great resurrection; emblems of the bright and better land.
If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!
Man is always more than he can know of himself; consequently, his accomplishments, time and again, will come as a surprise to him.
Kind messages, that pass from land to land; Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand, -- One touch of fire, -- and all the rest is mystery!
Then followed that beautiful season... Summer.... Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
All was ended now, the hope, and the fear and the sorrow,
All the aching of the heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing,
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience!
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.
What shall I say to you? What can I say Better than silence is?
All things must change to something new, to something strange.
From the waterfall he named her, Minnehaha, Laughing Water.
For bells are the voice of the church; They have tones that touch and search The hearts of young and old.
Hope has as many lives as a cat or a king.
Youth, hope, and love: To build a new life on a ruined life, To make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a troubled dream.
The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, While underneath such leafy tents they keep The long, mysterious Exodus of Death.
The tragic element in poetry is like Saturn in alchemy, the Malevolent, the Destroyer of Nature ; but without it no true Aurum Potabile, or Elixir of Life, can be made.
The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night.
The sea hath its pearls
The heaven hath its stars
But my heart, my heart
Has its love.
Everyone says that forgiveness is a lovely idea until he has something to forgive.
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance... . And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.
Big words do not smite like war-clubs, Boastful breath is not a bow-string, Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, Deeds are better things than words are, Actions mightier than boastings.
The first pressure of sorrow crushes out from our hearts the best wine; afterwards the constant weight of it brings forth bitterness, the taste and stain from the lees of the vat.
The secret studies of an author are the sunken piers upon which is to rest the bridge of his fame, spanning the dark waters of oblivion. They are out of sight, but without them no superstructure can stand secure.
Let us be merciful as well as just.
Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.
The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, And on its outer point, some miles away, The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.
Great is the art of beginning, but even greater is the art of ending.
Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts.
Among the noblest in the land -- Though man may count himself the least -- That man I honor and revere, Who without favor, without fear, In the great city dares to stand, The friend of every friendless beast.
To be left alone, and face to face with my own crime, had been just retribution.
Let us, then, be up and doing, with a heart for any fate; still achieving, still pursuing, learn to labor and to wait.
God's illumined promise.
The nearer the dawn the darker the night.
The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, and doing well whatever you do without thought of fame. If it comes at all it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after.
How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and the heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!
And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.
There is no light in earth or heaven but the cold light of stars; and the first watch of night is given to the red planet Mars.
No one is so accursed by fate, no one so utterly desolate, but some heart though unknown responds unto his own.
My soul is full of longing for the secrets of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.
A boy's will is the wind's will.
A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
In this world a man must either be anvil or hammer.
The evening came.--The setting sun stretched his celestial rods of light across the level landscape, and like the miracle in Egypt, smote the rivers, the brooks, and the ponds, and they became as blood.
My designs and labors and aspirations are my only friends.
Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple.
How in the turmoil of life can love stand,
Where there is not one heart, and one mouth and one hand.
The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea.
The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!
Youth comes but once a life time. Perhaps, but it remains strong in many for their entire lives.
I will be a man among men; and no longer a dreamer among shadows.
A handful of red sand from the hot clime
Of Arab deserts brought,
Within this glass becomes the spy of Time,
The minister of Thought.
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf.
Music is the language spoken by angels.
The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall be, The things that might have been, and yet were not, The fading twilight of joys departed.
Into a world unknown,-the corner-stone of a nation!
Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings -- as some savage tribes determine the power of muskets by their recoil; that being considered best which fairly prostrates the purchaser.
Buried was the bloody hatchet; Buried was the dreadful war-club; Buried were all warlike weapons, And the war-cry was forgotten. Then was peace among the nations.
However things may seem, no evil thing is success and no good thing is failure.
Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.
All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.
Oh, what a glory doth this world put on, for him who with a fervent heart goes forth under the bright and glorious sky, and looks on duties well performed, and days well spent.
Even the blackest of them all, the crow,
Renders good service as your man-at-arms,
Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail.
And crying havoc on the slug and snail.
The Laws of Nature are just, but terrible. There is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are inseparable and inevitable.
For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
My Book and Heart Shall never part.
The country is not priest-ridded, but press-ridden.
Simplicity in character, in manners, in style; in all things the supreme excellence is simplicity.
If you would hit the mark at long range, you must aim a little above it: Every arrow that flies feels the pull of the earth.
Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion.
The purpose of that apple tree is to grow a little new wood each year. That is what I plan to do.
The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone.
The greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it anticipates and admits of no return.
Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.
The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright. The house is full of life and light.
I saw the long line of the vacant shore, The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand, And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.
A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books.
All things come round to him who will but wait.
Many have genius, but, wanting art, are forever dumb. The two must go together to form the great poet, painter, or sculptor.
It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know it has begun.
'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees; Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.
While the brown ale he quaffed, loud then the champion laughed.
Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
Life is the gift of God, and is divine.
It was a high counsel that I once heard given to a young person, -- always do what you are afraid to do.
Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows.
Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden.
Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.
Let him not boast who puts his armor on as he who puts it off, the battle done.
That tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms on it than it now bears. That tree grows new wood each year. Like that apple tree, I try to grow a new little wood each year.
Sculpture is more than painting. It is greater To raise the dead to life than to create Phantoms that seem to live.
Art is the child of Nature.
Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought.
O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away?
Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for miles below
Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, as if just covered with lighted snow.
Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.
Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside.
Bell, thou soundest merrily, When the bridal party To the church doth hie! Bell, thou soundest solemnly, When, on Sabbath morning, Fields deserted lie!
A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood.
Work is my recreation,
The play of faculty; a delight like that
Which a bird feels in flying, or a fish
In darting through the water, -- Nothing more.
The Mormons make the marriage ring, like the ring of Saturn, fluid, not solid, and keep it in its place by numerous satellites.
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
A great sorrow, like a mariner's quadrant, brings the sun at noon down to the horizon, and we learn where we are on the sea of life.
Every man has his secret sorrows.
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend.
For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.
Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn; We shudder for a moment, then awake In the broad sunshine of the other life.
By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.
All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!
A coquette is a young lady of more beauty than sense, more accomplishments than learning, more charms not person than graces of mind, more admirers than friends, mole fools than wise men for attendants.
Don't cross the bridge until you come to it.
As Unto the bow the the cord is ,
So unto the man is woman;
Though she bends him, she obeys him,
Though she draws him , yet she follows:
Useless each without the other.
We are all architects of faith, ever living in these walls of time.
The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes.
I love thee, as the good love heaven.
The grave is but a covered bridge, leading from light to light, through a brief darkness.
All these thoughts of love and strife
Glimmered through his lurid life,
As the stars' intenser light
Through the red flames o'er him trailing,
As his ships went sailing, sailing,
Northward in the summer night.
The emigrant's way o'er the western desert is mark'd by
Camp-fires long consum'd and bones that bleach in the sunshine.
When you ask one friend to dine, Give him your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do!
Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of might be, a psychological romance of possibilities and things that do not happen.
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining.
The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy.
He speaketh not; and yet there lies a conversation in his eyes.
Don Quixote thought he could have made beautiful bird-cages and toothpicks if his brain had not been so full of ideas of chivalry. Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.
Dreams or illusions, call them what you will, they lift us from the commonplace of life to better things.
All nature ... is a respiration Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing hereafter Will inhale it into his bosom again, So that nothing but God alone will remain.
Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.
Great men stand like solitary towers in the city of God.
How far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow
Into the arctic regions of our lives,
Where little else than life itself survives.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting.
Magnificent autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds; not like a hermit, clad in gray; but like a warrior with the stain of blood in his brazen mail.
All your strength is in union, all your danger is in discord.
All your strength in is your union. All your danger is in discord.
Therefore be at peace henceforward, And as brothers live together.
Nothing that is can pause or stay;
The moon will wax, the moon will wane,
The mist and cloud will turn to rain,
The rain to mist and cloud again,
Tomorrow be today.
O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!
As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today.
With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain!
Trust no future, however pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act -- act in the living Present! Heart within and God overhead.
Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, let us be merciful as well as just.
The thoughts of Youth are long, long thoughts.
The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,
And all the sweet serenity of books.
O lovely eyes of azure, Clear as the waters of a brook that run Limpid and laughing in the summer sun!
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
An enlightened mind is not hoodwinked; it is not shut up in a gloomy prison till it thinks the walls of its dungeon the limits of the universe, and the reach of its own chain the outer verge of intelligence.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveler to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
I do not love thee less for what is done,
And cannot be undone. Thy very weakness
Hath brought thee nearer to me, and henceforth
My love will have a sense of pity in it,
Making it less a worship than before.
The hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.
All was silent as before -- All silent save the dripping rain.
The poor too often turn away unheard, From hearts that shut against them with a sound That will be heard in heaven.
The counterfeit and counterpart of Nature is reproduced in art.
Learn to labour and to wait.
Think of your woods and orchards without birds! Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams As in an idiot's brain remembered words Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams!
Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.
Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse.
To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing,
As in a foundering ship.
Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavor for the selfsame ends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations.
As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain.
Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are happiest.
Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are the happiest, For those that wander they know not where Are full of trouble and full of care; To stay at home is best.
Wisely improve the Present. It is thine.
The prayer of Ajax was for light.
He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man.
A noble type of good. Heroic womanhood.
There is no flock, however watched and tended, but one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside howsoe'er defended, but has one vacant chair.
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,
Kisses the blushing leaf.
Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice triumphs.
Today is the blocks with which we build.
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.
Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.
Ah, nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.
The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken.
I have a passion for ballad... They are the gypsy children of song, born under green hedgerows in the leafy lanes and bypaths of literature, -- in the genial Summertime.
O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but play; Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be!
With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought; they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground.
How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight!
Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests.
Wisely the Hebrews admit no Present tense in their language;
While we are speaking the word, it is is already the Past.
Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without number Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only. Only to love and to be loved again.
Be noble in every thought And in every deed!
Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.
Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger.
He had mittens, Minjekahwun, Magic mittens made of deer-skin; When upon his hands he wore them, He could smite the rocks asunder, He could grind them into powder.
What seems to us but dim funeral tapers may be heaven's distant lamps.
I dislike an eye that twinkles like a star. Those only are beautiful which, like the planets, have a steady lambent light, are luminous, but not sparkling.
Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.
We waste our best years in distilling the sweetest flowers of life into potions which, after all, do not immortalize, but only intoxicate.
Unasked, Unsought, Love gives itself but is not bought.
T is a stairway, not a street, That ascends the deep ravine, Where the torrent leaps between Rocky walls that almost meet.
Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.
The swallow is come! The swallow is come! O, fair are the seasons, and light Are the days that she brings, With her dusky wings, And her bosom snowy white!
If a woman shows too often the Medusa's head, she must not be astonished if her lover is turned into stone.
If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Now to rivulets from the mountains Point the rods of fortune-tellers; Youth perpetual dwells in fountains, Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars.
Every human heart is human.
The picture that approaches sculpture nearest Is the best picture.
Tis always morning somewhere.
How can I tell the signals and the signs
By which one heart another heart divines?
How can I tell the many thousand ways
By which it keeps the secret it betrays?
Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom.
Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.
The soul...is audible, not visible.
Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice.
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o'er our fears, are all with thee -- are all with thee!
One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm For the country folk to be up and to arm.
Perseverance is a great element of success.
Perseverance is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.
The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.
It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves.
How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams with its illusions, aspirations, dreams! Book of Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend!
And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
and silently steal away.
Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find.
Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.
Age is opportunity no less,
Than youth itself, through in another dress.
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.
It is true, that it is not at all necessary to love many books, in order to love them much.
Trouble is the next best thing to enjoyment. There is no fate in the world so horrible as to have no share in either its joys or sorrows.
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.
Our hearts are lamps for ever burning.
Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.
Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.
Resolve, and thou art free.
Resolve, and thou art free. But breathe the air
Of mountains, and their unapproachable summits
Will lift thee to the level of themselves.