655 quotes
Her heart and lip were music, albeit one
Who marvell'd at what her sweet self had done;
Who breathed for Love, and pined to find that Fame
In answer to her lute's soft summons came;
See, the eye droops in sadness, as to shun
That which it dared not gaze on, Glory's sun.
I saw an aged woman turn
To her wretched home again —
All day she had asked charity,
And all day asked in vain. . . .
But these days
Of visible poetry have long been past!—
No fear that the young hunter may profane
The haunt of some immortal
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
Rode by radiant shapes that seem
Creatures made of bloom and beam,
With their hair and plumes' gay dyes
Glorious as the morning skies.
The poets told thy birth
Was welcomed upon earth
By the sweet multitude of shining flowers,
By bursting buds, green leaves, and sunny hours.
My power was but a woman's power;
Yet, in that great and glorious dower
Which Genius gives, I had my part:
I poured my full and burning heart
The Improvisatrice (1824)
I left my home, and I was left
A stranger in his land, bereft
Of even hope; there was not one
Familiar face to look upon.—
Their speech was strange.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
What is the reason that we find it so satisfactory to make excuses to ourselves—the only persons in the world to whom they must be altogether needless ?
An Evening at Lucy Ashton's
Heath's book of Beauty, 1833 (1832)
Why should I love? flinging down pearl and gem
To those who scorn, at least care not for them:
Why should I hate? as blades in scabbards melt,
I have no power to make my hatred felt
The Venetian Bracelet (1829)
'T was night, but night which the imperial moon,
Regal in her full beauty, turn'd to noon,
But still the noon of midnight; though the ray
Was clear and bright, it was not that of day
The Golden Violet (1827)
The present—the actual—were they our all—
Too heavy our burthen, too hopeless our thrall;
But heaven, that spreadeth o'er all its blue cope,
Hath given us memory,—hath given us hope!
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
The present! it sinketh with sorrow and care,
That but for the future, it never could bear;
We dwell in its shadow, we see by its light,
And to-day trusts to-morrow, it then will be bright.
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
Let the rose fall, another rose
Will bloom upon the self-same tree ;
Let the bird die, ere evening close
Some other bird will sing for me.
It is for the beloved to love,
'Tis for the happy to be kind ;
Sorrow will more than death remove
The associate links affections bind.
Sentiment, by the by, is one of those ill-used words which, from being often misemployed, require a definition when properly applied. Sentiment is the poetry of feeling. Feeling weeps over the grave of the beloved — sentiment weeps, and plants the early flower and the green tree, to weep too.
Romance and Reality (1831)
Pure as the snow the summer sun
Never at noon hath look'd upon, —
Deep, as is the diamond wave,
Hidden in the desart cave, —
Changeless, as the greenest leaves
Of the wreath the cypress weaves, —
Hopeless, often, when most fond,
Without hope or fear beyond
Its own pale fidelity, —
And this woman's love can be!
The Troubadour (1825)
In the very lowest class it is well to be bred up amid those scenes wherein our future is cast ; nothing ever supplies the place of those early associations — nothing ever knits the heart to the place of its birth like the remembrances of childhood — nothing can give the entire knowledge of a people, but having been brought up among them.
There is a flower, a magical flower,
On which love hath laid a fairy power ;
Gather it on the eve of St. John,
When the clock of the village is tolling one ;
Let no look be turned, no word be said,
And lay the rose-leaves under your head ;
Your sleep will be light, and pleasant your rest,
For your visions will be of the youth you love best.
In the east the day was reddening,
When the warriors pass'd ;
In the west the night was deadening,
As they looked their last ;
As they looked their last on him —
He, their comrade — their commander —
He, the earth's adored —
He, the godlike Alexander !
Who can wield his sword ?
As they went their eyes were dim,
The silver-shielded warriors,
The warriors of the world !
We have heard of the solitude of the wide ocean, of the sandy desert, of the pathless forest; but, for a real, thorough, and entire knowledge, far beyond Zimmerman’s, of the pleasures of solitude, commend us to a young damsel doomed to a sofa and female society, while quadrille after quadrille is formed in her sight, and the waltzes go round like stars with whose motions we have nothing to do.
Romance and Reality (1831)
... ; but conscience, like a child, is soon lulled to sleep ; and habit is our idea of eternity.
Heath's book of Beauty, 1833 (1832)