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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.

Bayard Taylor

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

Dank heavy Steam
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
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.
BAYARD TAYLOR

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

Childhood Children Dream
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

Childhood Desire Long
Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Men Opportunity Wise
Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Higher Perfect Song
It is an agreeable and yet a painful sense of novelty to stand for the first time in the midst of a people whose language and manners are different from one’s own.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Different Firsts People
Really,’ thought I, ‘we call Baltimore the ‘Monumental City’ for its two marble columns, and here is Edinburg with one at every street-corner!
BAYARD TAYLOR

Baltimore Cities Two
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
Labor, you know, is prayer.
BAYARD TAYLOR

Know Labor Prayer
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

Ocean Running Space
The Poet’s leaves are gathered one by one, In the slow process of the doubtful years.
BAYARD TAYLOR

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

Deeds Prayer Virtuous

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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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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