All Quotes

"There is no tie Like that last holiest link of love, which binds The lonely child to its more lonely parent."

"Beauty should be around the beautiful."

"A soft and blue Italian sky, — the blue That painters and that poets love, — the blue The lover worships in the maiden's eyes, Whose beauty is their power and spell."

"And round the walls were Pictures : some calm scenes Of Earth's green loveliness, and some whose hues Were caught from faces in whose smile our life Is one of Paradise ; and Statues, whose white grace Is as a dream of poetry."

"Oh Genius! fling aside thy starry crown, Close up thy rainbow wings, and on thy head Lay dust and ashes — for, this cold drear world Is but thy prison-house. Alas for him Who has thy dangerous gifts, for they are like The fatal ones that evil spirits give, — Bright and bewildering, leading unto death."

"The moon is darkened in the sky As if grief 's shade were passing by;"

"I envy thee, thou careless wind ! How light, how wild thy wandering : Thou hast no earthly chain, to bind One fetter on thy airy wing."

"Gentlest one, I bow to thee, Rose-lipp'd queen of poesy, Sweet Erato, thou whose chords Waken but for love-touched words !"

"Come, gentle harp, and let me hold Communion with thy melody, And be my tale of sorrow told To thee, my harp, and only thee."

"I will look on the stars and look on thee, and read the page of thy destiny."

"A summer isle, one over which the wind Hath ever pass'd in melody,— such airs As are born in the rose's breast, and die Like singing on the waters."

"There grew ten thousand flowers, on whose leaves Shone every hue that ever yet hath shone In a king's diadem of Indian gems, Or in the tints an autumn sunset throws O'er the rich glaciers in the rainbow arch Of the departing shower ;"

"No other language than some soft sweet sounds She had caught from the voices of the birds When singing to the morning, and the notes Sent from the waterfall, when, like a harp, It held discourse in music with the wind."

"To what may youth's first joyance be compared ? To daylight, and the glad song of the lark Bursting together, — to a sudden gush Of perfume, till the giddy senses link With overmuch delight,— a dream,— a tale Of Paradise, told in fair poesy."

"Rode by radiant shapes that seem Creatures made of bloom and beam, With their hair and plumes' gay dyes Glorious as the morning skies."

"But as old tradition tells, There are other, deeper, spells In the lone and mystic wells — Spells of strange wild augury Few have had the heart to try. —"

"To hide the wells from the beam of the sun, She took the webs of silvery white Herself had wove in the lone moonlight, And threw them o'er, so that not one ray Could lighten their depths with a glimpse of day;"

"My spell is done, my prize is won ; True love! thou hast equal none; True love ! who could choose for thee Gold or gems or vanity ? Where is the spell whose charm will prove, Like the spell of thy charm, true love ?"

"'Twas as she hoped, — he sleeps ; and now Her lips are on his throbbing brow, Sucking the poison forth : 't was bliss To know she gave her life for his."

"Yet, wake again, I pray thee, wake; My soul yet lives upon the chords — My heart must breathe its wrongs, or break : Yet can it find relief in words !"

"I dread the pictures of my dreams, For, then I gaze on thee; And thou art near, and thou art all That I would have thee be. And then I startle from my sleep, And know all false, and watch and weep."

"I've thought upon thy brow when Night Threw o'er my pallet her summer moonlight, And I have looked on the midnight sky To catch the depth and light of thy eye ; I painted from these and from memory, For I could not paint when I looked on thee."

"A luxury of deep repose ! the heart Must surely beat in quiet here."

"God ! that this Earth should be so beautiful, And yet so wretched !"

"Race of the rainbow wing, the deep blue eye Whose palace was the bosom of a flower; Who rode upon the breathing of the rose ; Drank from the harebell ; made the moon the queen Of their gay revels ; and whose trumpets were The pink-veined honeysuckle; and who rode Upon the summer butterfly : who slept Lulled in the sweetness of the violet's leaves,— Where are ye now ? And ye of eastern tale, With your bright palaces, your emerald halls ; Gardens whose fountains were of liquid gold ; Trees with their ruby fruit and silver leaves,— Where are ye now ?"

"And then the lute, the lattice, and the girl, The white rose, and the melancholy song — Oh, Night, thy reign is over lovely things ! —"

"Oh, the heart Knows not the power of music till it loves !"

"Oh! moral of enjoyment! — scattered, crushed : — The pale checks of the few that staid, like ghosts Haunting the footsteps of departing mirth, While the bright pictures over them looked down Almost in mockery."

"Death has most awful lessons ! It is sad, Aye, strange, to see even the aged die ; But about youth there is a confidence In life, that makes it terrible."

"The hope that clings to the least glimpse of blue Amid a sky of murkiness ; the fear That sickens at itself; the fond deceit, That will not see the truth ; the tenderness, That only asks to trust ; and, at the last, The knowledge we have known in vain so long Comes like a thunderbolt, and crashes."

"But give me one curl of thy raven hair, And, by all thy hopes in heaven, swear That, chance what may thou wilt claim thy bride, And thou to-morrow shall lie by my side."

"That day the youth was told the tale, How she had pined beneath the veil And died, and then they show'd her grave— He knew that cypress's green wave. — That night, alone, he watched his bride — The next they laid him by her side."

"And all was silence. — save when the wild bees. Intoxicate with their noon revelries, Murmuring, kiss'd the blossoms where they lay ; Or when the breeze bore a green leaf away; Or when the flutter of the cusha's wing Echoed its song of plaintive languishing —"

"The Lake was that deep blue, which night Wears in the zenith moon's full light; With pebbles shining thro', like gems Lighting sultana's diadems :"

"Last night I by my casement leant, And looked on the bright firmament; And marked a group of stars, which met, Almost as if on purpose set Together for their loveliness, —"

"How much of the full heart must be A seal'd book at whose contents we tremble ?"

"There is a flower, a purple flower Sown by the wind, nursed by the shower, O'er which Love has breathed a power and spell The truth of whispering hope to tell. (According to the Lady's Book of Flowers, 1842 , this is the centaury)"

"He loves not, he loves me, he loves me not, He loves me, — yes, thou last leaf, yes, I'll pluck thee not, for that last sweet guess! " He loves me,”"

"This mountain-ash, whose flower-fill'd boughs Spread like a cloud at noon — Whose shade is as a haunted place For the sweet airs of June : 'Twas but a little shrub when first I wreathed amid thy hair Its berries, like the coral crown That the sea-maidens wear."

"Passing thus with time away, The sweet gifts of youth decay ; Fleet their blooms, thus one by one, Till their very form is gone ; Memory left but to declare How beautiful and sweet they were! In the first blue noon of Spring, Who can think on withering?"

"I made myself a little boat And launched it on the sea ; And into the wide world went forth To see what there might be."

"I have a summer gift, A sunny gift for thee : See this white vase, where blooms A beautiful rose tree. And on its crimson leaves Your heart must moralize, For love a lesson takes Of every leaf that dies."

"Oh ! never should a woman's words be more Than sighs which have found utterance."

"Happiness ! pleasure I should rather say, Happiness never made on earth a stay —"

"Who seeing the fair ship That swept through the bright waves. Would dream that tyrants trod her deck, And that her freight was slaves !"

"I would have rather been a slave In fettered bondage by thy side, Than shared in all the world could give, Had it not given thee beside."

"I would resign the words of praise which now Make my cheek crimson and my pulses beat. Could I but deem that when my heart is cold And my lip passionless, my songs would be Numbered 'mid the young minstrels' first delights, And murmured by the lover where his suit Calls upon poetry to breathe of love."

"Life is a torrid day, Parched with the dust and sun ; And death's the calm cool night, When the weary day is done."

"It was a face, with nothing but the blush To mark it from the sculptured features round : As perfect in its beauty ; but the flush Of earthly warmth and earthly feeling crowned The master-piece of nature ;— that rich gush Was from the heart, which thus a language found, The eloquence of truth and silence ever : — Words, sighs, and smiles deceive, but blushes never."

"Where, oh, where's the chain to fling, One that will chain Cupid's wing— One that will have longer power Than the April sun or shower?"