The hollows are heavy and dank With the steam of the Goldenrods.
BAYARD TAYLORThe glories of the possible are ours.
More Bayard Taylor Quotes
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It is an agreeable and yet a painful sense of novelty to stand for the first time in the midst of a people whose language and manners are different from one’s own.
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Sometimes an hour of Fate’s serenest weather Strikes through our changeful sky its coming beams; Somewhere above us, in elusive ether, Waits the fulfilment of our dearest dreams.
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And rest, that strengthens unto virtuous deeds, Is one with Prayer.
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From the desert I come to thee, On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire.
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The nearest approach I have ever seen to the symmetry of ancient sculpture was among the Arab tribes of Ethiopia. Our Saxon race can supply the athlete, but not the Apollo.
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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.
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The maxims tell you to aim at perfection, which is well; but it’s unattainable, all the same.
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The loving are the daring.
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Melrose is the finest remaining specimen of Gothic architecture in Scotland. Some of the sculptured flowers in the cloister arches are remarkably beautiful and delicate, and the two windows – the south and east oriels – are of a lightness and grace of execution really surprising.
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The stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
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An enthusiastic desire of visiting the Old World haunted me from early childhood. I cherished a presentiment, amounting almost to belief, that I should one day behold the scenes, among which my fancy had so long wandered.
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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.
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The Poet’s leaves are gathered one by one, In the slow process of the doubtful years.
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And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy’s bonfire spread.
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Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.
BAYARD TAYLOR