77 quotes
Alas! she looked but in that eye
Where now was writ her destiny.
The heart love leaves looks back ever;
The heart where he is dwelling, never.
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
I know not which is the most fatal gift,
Genius or Love, for both alike are ruled
By stars of bright aspect and evil influence.
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
To know yourself less beloved than you love, is a dreadful feeling
We step not over the threshold of childhood till led by Love
Heath's book of Beauty, 1833 (1832)
Oh, nothing has the memory of love!
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
Do any thing but love ; or if thou lovest
And art a Woman, hide thy love from him
Who thou dost worship ; never let him know
How dear he is ; flit like a bird before him, —
Lead him from tree to tree, from flower to flower ;
But be not won, or thou wilt, like that bird,
When caught and caged, be left to pine neglected,
And perish in forgetfulness.
It was no fancy, he had named the name
Of love, and at that thought her cheek grew flame
The Troubadour (1825)
They built a temple for the God,
'Twas in a myrtle grove,
Where the bee and the butterfly
Vied for each blossom's love.
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
It was my evil star above,
Not my sweet lute, that wrought me wrong;
It was not song that taught me love,
But it was love that taught me song.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
I Give thee, love, a blooming braid;
I cull'd it at eve's 'witching hour ;
I twin'd it in the moon's sweet shade,
When starlight dew was on each flower.
The Fate of Adelaide (1821)
Love's gifts are like the vein of gold
That intersects earth's darker mould;
The gold is gained, the coin is wrought;
But how much trouble has it brought?
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
. . . Oh! the heart
Makes its own happiness, perchance the best,
When consecrate to one engrossing love !
He loves not, he loves me, he loves me not,
He loves me, — yes, thou last leaf, yes,
I'll pluck thee not, for that last sweet guess!
" He loves me,”
Time passed as time ever does when passed monotonously, that is, with a degree of rapidity which only astonishes us when it is recalled to mind by some chance circumstance. Time should he reckoned by events, not hours ; the heart is its truest time-piece, at least as concerns ourselves.
Francesca Carrara (1834)
The history of a minute — why, it would give a bird's-eye view of every possible variety in human existence. Wonderful the many events that are happening together — life and death — joy and sorrow— the great and the mean — the common and the rare — good and evil — are all in the record of that brief segment of time.
Francesca Carrara (1834)
Not to the present is our hour confined,
The great and shadowy future is assigned
To be the glorious empire of the mind.
The past was once the future, and it wrought
In the high presence of on-looking thought ;
All that we have, was by its efforts brought.
To-day creates to-morrow, and the tree
Of good or ill grows in past hours, what we
Make for the future — certain is to be.
Well he knows his course has hasted
Through delicious sin,
Borne tumultuously along.
Never have the stars above
Chronicled such utter love.