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 TAYLORThere may come a day Which crowns Desire with gift, and Art with truth, And Love with bliss, and Life with wiser youth!
More Bayard Taylor Quotes
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Alone each heart must cover up its dead; Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.
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The most annoying of all blockheads is a well-read fool.
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He teaches best, Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast, And knows their strength or weakness through his own.
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With rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise; March!
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The healing of the world is in its nameless saints. Each separate star seems nothing, but a myriad scattered stars break up the night and make it beautiful.
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Learn to live, and live to learn, Ignorance like a fire doth burn, Little tasks make large return.
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To Truth’s house there is a single door, which is experience.
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To learn by observation is traveling, people must also bring knowledge with them.
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Labor, you know, is prayer.
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Eccentricity is developed monomania.
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Melrose 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.
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Voluptuous bloom and fragrance rare The summer to its rose may bring; Far sweeter to the wooing air The hidden violet of spring. Still, still that lovely ghost appears, Too fair, too pure, to bid depart; No riper love of later years Can steal its beauty from the heart.
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Could one live on the sense of beauty alone, exempt from the necessity of ‘creature comforts,’ a sea-voyage would be delightful.
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There may come a day Which crowns Desire with gift, and Art with truth, And Love with bliss, and Life with wiser youth!
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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.
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And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy’s bonfire spread.
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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.
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Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.
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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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Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.
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I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.
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The stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
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London has the advantage of one of the most gloomy atmospheres in the world.
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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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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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