Who thinks, at night, that morn will ever be? Who knows, far out upon the central sea, That anywhere is land? And yet, a shore Has set behind us, and will rise before: A past foretells a future.

BAYARD TAYLOR

black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

Who thinks, at night, that morn will ever be? Who knows, far out upon the central sea, That anywhere is land? And yet, a shore Has set behind us, and will rise before: A past foretells a future.

Bayard Taylor

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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.
BAYARD TAYLOR
Who thinks, at night, that morn will ever be? Who knows, far out upon the central sea, That anywhere is land? And yet, a shore Has set behind us, and will rise before: A past foretells a future.

BAYARD TAYLOR

Who thinks, at night, that morn will ever be? Who knows, far out upon the central sea, That anywhere is land? And yet, a shore Has set behind us, and will rise before: A past foretells a future.
BAYARD TAYLOR
The hollows are heavy and dank With the steam of the Goldenrods.

BAYARD TAYLOR

The hollows are heavy and dank With the steam of the Goldenrods.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Dank heavy Steam
Love’s humility is love’s true pride.

BAYARD TAYLOR

Love’s humility is love’s true pride.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Humility
Swelling in anger or sparkling in glee.

BAYARD TAYLOR

Swelling in anger or sparkling in glee.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Glee Swelling
And rest, that strengthens unto virtuous deeds, Is one with Prayer.

BAYARD TAYLOR

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

Deeds Virtuous
Could one live on the sense of beauty alone, exempt from the necessity of ‘creature comforts,’ a sea-voyage would be delightful.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Comfort Voyages
Alone each heart must cover up its dead; Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.

BAYARD TAYLOR

Alone each heart must cover up its dead; Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.
BAYARD TAYLOR
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

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
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

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

Perfect
Pens carry further than rifled cannon.

BAYARD TAYLOR

Pens carry further than rifled cannon.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Cannons Pens
Eccentricity is developed monomania.

BAYARD TAYLOR

Eccentricity is developed monomania.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Eccentricity Monomania
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.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Long
Mock jewelry on a woman is tangible vulgarity.

BAYARD TAYLOR

Mock jewelry on a woman is tangible vulgarity.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Jewelry Tangible
With rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise; March!

BAYARD TAYLOR

With rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise; March!
BAYARD TAYLOR

Dark
We follow and race In shifting chase, Over the boundless ocean-space! Who hath beheld when the race begun? Who shall behold it run?

BAYARD TAYLOR

We follow and race In shifting chase, Over the boundless ocean-space! Who hath beheld when the race begun? Who shall behold it run?
BAYARD TAYLOR

Running

Who thinks, at night, that morn will ever be? Who knows, far out upon the central sea, That anywhere is land? And yet, a shore Has set behind us, and will rise before: A past foretells a future.

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