black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

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

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

Hope Night Past
By wisdom wealth is won; but riches purchased wisdom yet for none.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Rich Wealth Wisdom
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.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Apollo Athlete Race
The Poet’s leaves are gathered one by one, In the slow process of the doubtful years.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Poet Process Years
Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Higher Perfect Song
The knowledge of my sin Is half-repentance.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Half Repentance Sin
The stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Streams Wells Wisdom
Eccentricity is developed monomania.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Develop Eccentricity Monomania
To Truth’s house there is a single door, which is experience.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Doors Experience House
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!
BAYARD TAYLOR

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

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

Heart Solitude
But still I dream that somewhere there must be The spirit of a child that waits for me.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Childhood Children Dream
And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, Are singing the selfsame strain.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Pain Sea Wind
Fame is what you have taken, / Character’s what you give; / When to this truth you waken, / Then you begin to live.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Character Giving Taken
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

Dream Fate Sky

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

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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

Related Topics

Popular Authors

More Bayard Taylor Quotes