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Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.

Bayard Taylor

Really,’ thought I, ‘we call Baltimore the ‘Monumental City’ for its two marble columns, and here is Edinburg with one at every street-corner!
BAYARD TAYLOR

Baltimore Cities Two
There may come a day Which crowns Desire with gift, and Art with truth, And Love with bliss, and Life with wiser youth!
BAYARD TAYLOR

Art Desire Success
Life lives only in success.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Life Live Success
He teaches best, Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast, And knows their strength or weakness through his own.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Experience Heart Men
To learn by observation is traveling, people must also bring knowledge with them.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Observation People
To Truth’s house there is a single door, which is experience.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Doors Experience House
Peace the offspring is of Power.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Offspring Peace
Love is better than Fame.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Better Fame Love
The stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Streams Wells Wisdom
The clouds are scudding across the moon, A misty light is on the sea; The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, And the foam is flying free.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Clouds Light Moon
The most annoying of all blockheads is a well-read fool.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Annoying Fool Wells
And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy’s bonfire spread.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Bonfire Poppies Tides
As I toiled up the Mount of Olives, in the very footsteps of Christ, panting with the heat and the difficult ascent, I found it utterly impossible to conceive that the Deity, in human form, had walked there before me.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Ascent Olives
The bravest are the most tender; the loving are the daring.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Courage Daring Engagement
I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Love Old Shall You
Departed suns their trails of splendor drew Across departed summers: whispers came From voices, long ago resolved again Into the primeval Silence, and we twain, Ghosts of our present selves, yet still the same, As in a spectral mirror wandered there.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Mirror Mirrors Self Summer Wander

Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.

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Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.

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