Words are freeborn, and not the vassals of the gruff tyrants of prose to do their bidding only. They have the same right to dance and sing as the dewdrops have to sparkle and the stars to shine.
ABRAHAM COLESMuch of our ignorance is of ourselves. Our eyes are full of dust. Prejudice blinds us.
More Abraham Coles Quotes
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Poetry is unfallen speech. Paradise knew no other, for no other would suffice to answer the need of those ecstatic days of innocence.
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The power to bind and loose to Truth is given: The mouth that speaks it is the mouth of Heaven
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We hail the return of the day of thy birth, Fair Columbia! washed by the waves of two oceans Where men from the farthest dominions of earth Rear altars to Freedom, and pay their devotions;
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O loving woman, man’s fulfillment, sweet, Completing him not otherwise complete! How void and useless the sad remnant left Were he of her, his nobler part, bereft.
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Who has not seen that feeling born of flame Crimson the cheek at mention of a name?
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Where our fathers in fight, nobly strove for the Right, Struck down their fierce foemen or put them to flight
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The rapturous touch of some divine surpriseFlash deep suffusion of celestial dyes
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No counter proof can equal the force of that drawn from His attributes. It is an indecency and a calumny to impute to Christ conduct which requires apology.
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Fling out, fling out, with cheer and shout, To all the winds of Our Country’s Banner!
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Be every bar, and every star, Displayed in full and glorious manner! Blow, zephyrs, blow, keep the dear ensign flying! Blow, zephyrs, sweetly mournful, sighing, sighing, sighing!
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None of the prophets old, So lofty or so bold! No form of danger shakes his dauntless breast; In loneliness sublime
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True love is humble, thereby is it known; Girded for service, seeking not its own; Vaunts not itself, but speaks in self-dispraise.
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Eternity! How know we but we stand On the precipitous and crumbling verge Of Time e’en now, Eternity below?
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The weary Body, longing for repose, On the gained level of the day’s ascent, Halts for the night and pitches there its tent.
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Within a bony labrinthean cave, Reached by the pulse of the aerial wave, This sibyl, sweet, and Mystic Sense is found, Muse, that presides o’er all the Powers of Sound.
ABRAHAM COLES






