Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.
And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.
Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to faith beyond the forms of faith; She reels not at the storm of warring words; She brightens at the clash of "Yes" and "No"; She sees the best that glimmers through the worst; She feels the sun is hid for the night; She spies the summer through the winter bud; She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls; She hears the lark within the songless egg; She finds the fountain where they wailed "Mirage!"
Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.
I found Him in the shining of the stars.
Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.
God's finger touched him, and he slept.
Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.
But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Whate'er thy joys, they vanish with the day: Whate'er thy griefs, in sleep they fade away, To sleep! to sleep! Sleep, mournful heart, and let the past be past: Sleep, happy soul, all life will sleep at last.
Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old.
The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.
The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss had brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more.
The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.
As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.
He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.
A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?
Trust me not at all, or all in all.
And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.
There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: