All Quotes

"O beauty of the midnight skies! O mystery of each distant star ! O dreaming hours, whose magic lies In rest and calm, with Day afar! Thanks for the higher moods that wake Our thoughtful and immortal part !— Out on our life, could we not make A spiritual temple of the heart ?"

"And here they met:—where should Love's meeting be — Love passionate, and spiritual, and deep— Where, but in such a haunted solitude— A green and natural temple—fitting shrine For vows the stars remember ?"

"Up climb'd the sweet pea, The butterfly of flowers:—I love it not, Though every hue—and it has many tints— Are dyed as if the sunset evening clouds Had fallen to the earth in sudden rain, And left their colours : purple, delicate pink, And snowy white, are on thy wing-like leaves; But thou art all too forward in thy bloom ; Thy blossoms are the sun's, and cling to all That can support them into open day: And then they die, leaving no root behind, The hope and promise of another spring; And no perfume, whose lingering gratitude Remains round what upheld its summer's life."

"Great Heaven ! what vain beliefs Have stirred the pulse and led the hopes of man ! As if that honour could be bought by blood, And that the fierce right hand was better worth Than the fine mind, and high and generous heart !—"

"THE present! it is but a drop from the sea In the mighty depths of eternity. I love it not—it taketh its birth Too near to the dull and the common earth."

"The present—the actual—were they our all— Too heavy our burthen, too hopeless our thrall; But heaven, that spreadeth o'er all its blue cope, Hath given us memory,—hath given us hope!"

"The future! ah, there hath the spirit its home, In its distance is written the glorious to come."

"The present! it sinketh with sorrow and care, That but for the future, it never could bear; We dwell in its shadow, we see by its light, And to-day trusts to-morrow, it then will be bright."

"The past! ah, we owe it a tenderer debt, Heaven's own sweetest mercy is not to forget; Its influence softens the present, and flings A grace, like the ivy, wherever it clings."

"Oh! world of sweet phantoms, how precious thou art! The past is perpetual youth to the heart."

"In the sun your golden grain display, And thrash it out and winnow it by day."

"We may know And when to reap the grain and when to sow, Or when to fell the furzes."

"You who supply the ground with seeds of grain, And you who swell those seeds with kindly rain."

"When continued rain The lab’ring husband in his house restrain, Let him forecast his work with timely care, Which else is huddled when the skies are fair."

"And oft whole sheets descend of sluicy rain, Suck’d by the spungy clouds from off the main: The lofty skies at once come pouring down, The promised crop and golden labours drown."

"She took the coleworts which her husband got From his own ground (a small well-water’d spot); She stripp’d the stalks of all their leaves; the best She cull’d, and then with handy care she dress’d."

"But when the western winds with vital pow’r Call forth the tender grass and budding flow’r, Men, at the last, produce in open air Both flocks, and send them to their summer’s fare."

"Begin when the slow waggoner descends, Nor cease your sowing till midwinter ends."

"For sundry foes the rural realm surround; The field-mouse builds her garner under ground: For gather’d grain the blind laborious mole, In winding mazes, works her hidden hole."

"Where the vales with violets once were crown’d, Now knotty burs and thorns disgrace the ground."

"Most have found A husky harvest from the grudging ground."

"For flax and oats will burn the tender field, And sleepy poppies harmful harvests yield."

"But various are the ways to change the state, To plant, to bud, to graft, to inoculate."

"The peasant, innocent of all these ills, With crooked ploughs the fertile fallow tills, And the round year with daily labour fills."

"To his county farm the fool confined; Rude work well suited with a rustic mind."

"Thou hop’st with sacrifice of oxen slain To compass wealth, and bribe the god of gain To give thee flocks and herds, with large increase; Fool! to expect them from a bullock’s grease."

"Apollo check’d my pride, and bade me feed My fatt’ning flocks, nor dare beyond the reed."

"Let Araby extol her happy coast, Her fragrant flow’rs, her trees with precious tears, Her second harvests."

"Suffering not the yellow beards to rear, He tramples down the spikes, and intercepts the ear."

"Ev’n when they sing at ease in full content, Insulting o’er the toil they underwent, Yet still they find a future task remain, To turn the soil."

"To dress the vines new labour is required, Nor must the painful husbandman be tired."

"Give me, ye gods, the product of one field, That so I neither may be rich nor poor; And haying just enough, not covet more."

"All was common, and the fruitful earth Was free to give her unexacted birth."

"Their morning milk the peasants press at night; Their evening milk before the rising light."

"The peaceful peasant to the wars is prest, The fields lie fallow in inglorious rest."

"Where the tender rinds of trees disclose Their shooting germs, a swelling knot there grows; Just in that place a narrow slit we make, Then other buds from bearing trees we take; Inserted thus, the wounded rind we close."

"Your farm requites your pains, Though rushes overspread the neighb’ring plains."

"Rocks lie cover’d with eternal snow; Thin herbage in the plains, and fruitless fields."

"Uneasy still within these narrow bounds, Thy next design is on thy neighbour’s grounds: His crop invites, to full perfection grown; Thy own seems thin, because it is thy own."

"T’ unload the branches, or the leaves to thin That suck the vital moisture of the vine."

"Yet then this little spot of earth well till’d, A num’rous family with plenty fill’d, The good old man and thrifty housewife spent Their days in peace and fatten’d with content; Enjoy’d the dregs of life, and lived to see A long descending healthful progeny."

"The soil, with fatt’ning moisture fill’d, Is clothed with grass, and fruitful to be till’d; Such as in fruitful vales we view from high, Which dripping rocks, not rowling streams supply."

"First, with assiduous care from winter keep, Well fother’d in the stalls, thy tender sheep; Then spread with straw the bedding of thy fold, With fern beneath, to fend the bitter cold."

"In vain the barns expect their promised load; Nor barns at home, nor ricks are heap’d abroad."

"At harvest-home, and on the shearing day, When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay."

"Ah that your business had been mine, To pen the sheep."

"Root up wild olives from thy labour’d lands."

"Nor is the profit small the peasant makes, Who smooths with harrow, or who pounds with rakes, The crumbling clods."

"Be mindful With iron teeth of rakes and prongs to move The crusted earth."

"Let thy hand supply the pruning-knife, And crop luxuriant stragglers."