The air of summer was sweeter than wine.
Youth comes but once in a lifetime.
How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth and one hand.
Think not because no man sees, such things will remain unseen.
The foods that prolong life and increase purity, vigour, health, cheerfulness, and happiness are those that are delicious, soothing, substantial and agreeable... Foods that are bitter, sour, salt, over-hot, pungent, dry and burning produce unhappiness, repentance and disease.
But the great Master said, "I see No best in kind, but in degree; I gave a various gift to each, To charm, to strengthen, and to teach".
All things are symbols.
This song of mine Is a song of the vine To be sung by the glowing embers Of wayside inns, When the rain begins To darken the drear Novembers. and For the richest and best Is the wind of the West That grows by the Beautiful River; Whose sweet perfume Fills all the room With a bension on the giver. and When you ask one friend to dine, Give hime your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do.
The nimble lie Is like the second-hand upon a clock; We see it fly; while the hour-hand of truth Seems to stand still, and yet it moves unseen, And wins, at last, for the clock will not strike Till it has reached the goal.
Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light.
Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, All solemn Voices of the Night, That can soothe thee, or affright, - Be these henceforth thy theme. (excerpt from "Voices of the Night")
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls; The day returns, but nevermore Returns the traveler to the shore, And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
O lovely river of Yvette! O darling river! like a bride, Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide. O lovely river Yvette! O darling stream! on balanced wings The wood-birds sang the chansonnette That here a wandering poet sings.
A sermon is no sermon in which I cannot hear the heartbeat.
Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.
All your strength is in union, all your danger is in discord.
Death is better than disease.
Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.
They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with us on earth no more!
If we could read the secret history of our enemies.
For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter Of the Eternal's language; - on earth it is called Forgiveness!
Love is a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than animate faith and love, as flowers are the animate springtide.
A boy's will is the wind's will.
The emigrant's way o'er the western desert is mark'd by Camp-fires long consum'd and bones that bleach in the sunshine.
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