Alone each heart must cover up its dead; Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.
BAYARD TAYLOR
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The glories of the possible are ours.
More Bayard Taylor Quotes
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Alone each heart must cover up its dead; Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.
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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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Peace the offspring is of Power.
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The loving are the daring.
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To learn by observation is traveling, people must also bring knowledge with them.
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Voluptuous bloom and fragrance rare The summer to its rose may bring; Far sweeter to the wooing air The hidden violet of spring. Still, still that lovely ghost appears, Too fair, too pure, to bid depart; No riper love of later years Can steal its beauty from the heart.
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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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Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few, And soon the grassy coverlet of God Spreads equal green above their ashes pale.
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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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In the glory which overhangs Palestine afar off, we imagine emotions which never come, when we tread the soil and walk over the hallowed sites.
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