English Quotes — page 1623

Oh, softest is the cheek's love-ray When seen by moonlight hours Other roses seek the day, But blushes are night flowers.

Love may be increased with fears, May be fanned with sighs, Nurst by fancies, fed by doubts But without Hope it dies!

And this is Love! Oh! why should woman love; Wasting her dearest feelings, till health, hope, Happiness, are but things of which henceforth She'll only know the name?

It is a gem which hath the power to show If plighted lovers keep their faith or no : If faithful, it is like the leaves of spring ; If faithless, like those leaves when withering.

He had a power; in his eye There was a quenchless energy, A spirit that could dare The deadliest form that Death could take, And dare it for the daring's sake.

They met with cold words, and yet colder looks: Each was changed in himself, and yet each thought The other only changed, himself the same.

But this is as a dream, — the plough has pass'd Where the stag bounded, and the day has looked On the green twilight of the forest-trees. This Oak has no companion ! - - - -

Violets! — deep-blue violets! April's loveliest coronets! There are no flowers grow in the vale, Kiss'd by the dew, wooed by the gale, — None by the dew of the twilight wet, So sweet as the deep-blue violet!

Oh, fame is as the moon above, Whose sun of light and life is love. There is more in the smile of one gentle eye Then the thousand pages of history; Than the loudest plaudits the crowd can raise. Take the gems in glory's coronal,

—for earth were too like heaven, If length of life to love were given.

Love is a pearl of purest hue, But stormy waves are round it; And dearly may a woman rue, The hour that she found it.

Well may storm be on the sky, And the waters roll on high, When MANMADIN passes by. Earth below and heaven above Well may bend to thee, oh Love!

Yet one arrow has a power Lasting till life's latest hour-- Weary day and sleepless night, Lightning gleams of fierce delight, Fragrant and yet poisoned sighs, Agonies and ecstasies;

Pillowed on a lotus flower, Gathered in a summer hour, Rides he o'er the mountain wave Which would be a tall ship's grave! At his back his bow is slung, Sugar-cane, with wild bees strung,—

He sung,—the notes at first were low, Like the whispers of love, or the breathings of woe: The waters were hushed, and the winds were stay'd, As he sang his farewell to his Lesbian maid!

What is the light of a poet's name, If it is not his country that hallows his fame? Where may he look for guerdon so fair As the honour and praise that await him there? His name will be lost and his grave forgot, If the tears of his …

The lines were fill'd with many a tender thing, All the impassion'd heart's fond communing.

I would not even have him weep O'er his Italian love's last sleep. Oh, tears are a most worthless token, When hearts they would have soothed are broken.

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.

He knelt him down on the new-raised mound, His face was bowed on the cold damp ground, He raised his head, his tears were done, The father had prayed o'er his only son!

Love, thou hast hopes like summers, short and bright, Moments of ecstasy, and maddening dreams, Intense delicious throbs!

Ah! love is even more fragile than its gifts! A tress of raven hair:--oh, only those Whose souls have felt this one idolatry Can tell how precious is the slightest thing Affection gives and hallows.

All, lingering, stayed to gaze Upon this Eden of the painter's art, And looking on its loveliness, forgot The crowded world around them!—

— a poet's love Is immortality!