Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.
We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
...and our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
I do but sing because I must; and pipe but as the linnets sing.
Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.
The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.
With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.
Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!
So dear a life your arms enfold, Whose crying is a cry for gold.
My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.
A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.
So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
Words, like nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.
That man's the best cosmopolite Who loves his native country best.
Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.
Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
All is well, tho' faith and form Be sunder'd in the night of fear.
And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!
That man's the true Conservative who lops the moldered branch away.
Thou madest man, he knows not why, he thinks he was not made to die.
Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
Be near me when my light is low... And all the wheels of being slow.
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
I will love thee to the death, And out beyond into the dream to come.
There is always change, bad customs pass and give way to better ones.
And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.
In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.
Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
What the sunshine is to the flower, the Lord Jesus Christ is to my soul.
And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, moulding men.
The world which credits what is done is cold to all that might have been.
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room
That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.
Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.
My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still.
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.