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- The butterfly conts not months but moments,
And has time enouth.
- Till the sun grows cold
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgement Book unfold.
Bayard Taylor, Beduin Song
- Learn to live, and live to learn,
Ignorance like a fire doth burn,
Little tasks make large return.
Bayard Taylor, To My Daughter
- Fame is what you have taken,
Character is what you give;
When to this truth you waken,
Then you begin to live.
Bayard Taylor, Improvisations
- There's no wound deeper than a pen can give,
It makes men living dead, and dead men live.
J. Taylor, A Kicksey-Winsey, part 7
- For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
- The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam
- Science moves but slowly, slowly creeping on from point to point.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Locksley Hall
- Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control,
These three alone lead life to sovereign power.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Oenone lines 142-143
- I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Ulysses lines 18-23
- Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam Proem
- I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam XXVII
- For Wisdom dealt with mortal powers,
Where truth in closest words shall fail,
When truth embodied in a tale
Shall enter in at lowly doors.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam XXXVI
- Light Breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in the tides.
- Each has its lesson; for our dreams in sooth,
Come they in shape of demons, gods, or elves,
Are allegories with deep hearts of truth
That tell us solemn secrets of ourselves.
Henry Timrod, Dreams