Heart Quotes — page 45

Of the Earth, of the Mother, my heart with her heart in accord: As I lie mid the cool green tresses that mantle her breast I begin with the grass once again to be bound to the Lord.

Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.

No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sun-flower turns on her god when he sets The same look which she turn'd when he rose.

How very desolate that breast must be, Whose only joyance is in memory! And what must woman suffer, thus betrayed?— Her heart's most warm and precious feelings made But things wherewith to wound: that heart—so weak, So soft—laid open to …

The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.

Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart!

Aye, and deep and deep and deeper let me drink and draw, From the olden fountain more than light or peace or dream, Such primeval being as o'erfills the heart with awe, Growing one with its silent stream.

Let us, then, be up and doing. With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow and fleet in my arms, Like fairy gifts fading away. Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade …

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

Though the dream of love may tire, In the ages long agone There were ruby hearts of fire — Ah, the daughters of the dawn!

Footprints, that perhaps another, Travelling o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.

Life is a waste of wearisome hours Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.

Thou, Poetry, in absence wert a chain, Binding our hearts together: where so well As in thy numbers, could I pour my soul, In soothing tenderness? 'twas bliss, to make Thought visible to those of whom I thought.

We are desert leagues apart; Time is misty ages now Since the warmth of heart to heart Chased the shadows from my brow.

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act, act in the living present! Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Hush, not a whisper! Let your heart alone go dreaming. Dream unto dream may pass: deep in the heart alone Murmurs the Mighty One his solemn undertone.

Look, then, into thine heart, and write!

All the morn a spirit gay Breathes within my heart a rhyme, 'Tis but hide and seek we play In and out the courts of Time.

Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.

I am the sunlight in the heart, the silver moonglow in the mind; My laughter runs and ripples through the wavy tresses of the wind. I am the fire upon the hills, the dancing flame that leads afar Each burning-hearted wanderer, and I the …

And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.

We and it and all together flashing through the starry spaces In a tempest dream of beauty lighting up the place of places. Half our eyes behold the glory: half within the spirit's glow Echoes of the noiseless revels and the will of beauty …

Now the quietude of earth Nestles deep my heart within; Friendships new and strange have birth Since I left the city's din.