Above Coblentz almost every mountain has a ruin and a legend. One feels everywhere the spirit of the past, and its stirring recollections come back upon the mind with irresistible force.
BAYARD TAYLORMelrose 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.
More Bayard Taylor Quotes
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London has the advantage of one of the most gloomy atmospheres in the world.
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The most annoying of all blockheads is a well-read fool.
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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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And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, Are singing the selfsame strain.
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And rest, that strengthens unto virtuous deeds, Is one with Prayer.
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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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Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.
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And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy’s bonfire spread.
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The stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
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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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The loving are the daring.
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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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But who will watch my lilies, When their blossoms open white? By day the sun shall be sentry, And the moon and the stars by night!
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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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The lamp you lighted in the olden time Will show you my heart’s-blood beating through the rhyme: A poet’s journal, writ in fire and tears… Then slow deliverance, with the gaps of years.
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