Heaven's ebon vault, studded with stars unutterably bright, through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, seems like a canopy which love has spread to curtain her sleeping world
January gray is here, like a sexton by her grave February bears the bier, march with grief doth howl and rave, and April weeps - but, O ye hours Follow with May's fairest flowers.
There is no sport in hate when all the rage is on one side
To hope till Hope creates from its own wreck the thing it contemplates.
The more we study, the more we discover our ignorance
Reason respects the differences, and imagination the similitudes of things
The breath of accusation kills an innocent name, and leaves for lame acquittal the poor life, which is a mask without it
Twin-sister of Religion, Selfishness.
Reason respects the differences, and imagination the similitudes of things.
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, The lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade.
I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity.
Obedience, Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, Makes slaves of men, and, of the human frame, A mechanized automaton
What 'twas weak to do 'Tis weaker to lament, once being done
There is no real wealth but the labor of man.
... a wild dissolving bliss Over my frame he breathed, approaching near, And bent his eyes of kindling tenderness Near mine, and on my lips impressed a lingering kiss,
A wild dissolving bliss Over my frame he breathed, approaching near, And bent his eyes of kindling tenderness Near mine, and on my lips impressed a lingering kiss,
Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine, Yet let's be merry we'll have tea and toast Custards for supper, and an endless host Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies, And other such ladylike luxuries
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind
Winter is come and gone,But grief returns with the revolving year.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind
One word is too often profaned For me to profane it One feeling too falsely disdain'd For thee to disdain it
The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness want worse need for them. The wise want love and those who love want wisdom And all good things are thus confused with ill.
Kings are like stars, - they rise and set, they have - The worship of the world, but no repose