London has the advantage of one of the most gloomy atmospheres in the world.
BAYARD TAYLORIn the glory which overhangs Palestine afar off, we imagine emotions which never come, when we tread the soil and walk over the hallowed sites.
More Bayard Taylor Quotes
-
-
Mock jewelry on a woman is tangible vulgarity.
BAYARD TAYLOR -
The Poet’s leaves are gathered one by one, In the slow process of the doubtful years.
BAYARD TAYLOR -
Pens carry further than rifled cannon.
BAYARD TAYLOR -
I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.
BAYARD TAYLOR -
I know I am–that simplest bliss The millions of my brothers miss. I know the fortune to be born, Even to the meanest wretch they scorn.
BAYARD TAYLOR -
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 -
Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few, And soon the grassy coverlet of God Spreads equal green above their ashes pale.
BAYARD TAYLOR -
The stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
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 -
The most annoying of all blockheads is a well-read fool.
BAYARD TAYLOR -
To Truth’s house there is a single door, which is experience.
BAYARD TAYLOR -
There may come a day Which crowns Desire with gift, and Art with truth, And Love with bliss, and Life with wiser youth!
BAYARD TAYLOR -
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 -
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 -
Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.
BAYARD TAYLOR