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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.

Bayard Taylor

The maxims tell you to aim at perfection, which is well; but it’s unattainable, all the same.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Aim Perfection Unattainable
Labor, you know, is prayer.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Know Labor Prayer
And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy’s bonfire spread.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Bonfire Poppies Tides
Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few, And soon the grassy coverlet of God Spreads equal green above their ashes pale.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Ashes Death Green
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 bravest are the most tender; the loving are the daring.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Courage Daring Engagement
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
Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Charm Verses Wooing
And rest, that strengthens unto virtuous deeds, Is one with Prayer.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Deeds Prayer Virtuous
So far as female beauty is concerned, the Circassian women have no superiors. They have preserved in their mountain home the purity of the Grecian models, and still display the perfect physical loveliness, whose type has descended to us in the Venus de Medici.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Home Mountain Perfect
By wisdom wealth is won; but riches purchased wisdom yet for none.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Rich Wealth Wisdom
Wrapped in his sad-colored cloak, the Day, like a Puritan, standeth Stern in the joyless fields, rebuking the lingering color,– Dying hectic of leaves and the chilly blue of the asters,– Hearing, perchance, the croak of a crow on the desolate tree-top.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Blue Color Tree
The stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Streams Wells Wisdom
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.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Desire Fire Wind
The aquilegia sprinkled on the rocks A scarlet rain; the yellow violet Sat in the chariot of its leaves, the phlox Held spikes of purple flame in meadows wet, And all the streams with vernal-scented reed Were fringed, and streaky bellow of miskodeed.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Color Flame Rain Rocks Sprinkle
Learn to live, and live to learn, Ignorance like a fire doth burn, Little tasks make large return.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Fire Ignorance Learning

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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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.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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