To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest, Who cries to me: "Remember Barmecide, And tremble to be happy with the rest." And I make answer: "I am satisfied; I dare not ask; I know not what is best; God hath already said what shall betide."
I should think your tongue has broken its chain.
This is the forest primeval.
But noble souls, through dust and heat, Rise from disaster and defeat The stronger.
The sun is set; and in his latest beams Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, The falling mantle of the Prophet seems.
The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea.
White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest So wonderfully built among the reeds Of the lagoon, that fences thee and feeds, As sayeth thy old historian and thy guest!
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame.
It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream, A blissful certainty, a vision bright, Of that rare happiness, which even on earth Heaven gives to those it loves.
Oh, there is something in that voice that reaches The innermost recesses of my spirit!
Thy voice Is a celestial melody.
Her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
The human voice is the organ of the soul.
The world loves a spice of wickedness.
The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed.
A boy's will is the wind's will.
Will without power is like children playing at soldiers. - quoted by Thomas Babington Macaulay, The Rovers (act IV),
I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument.
Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear Has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long.
The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and that hereafter shall be, The things that might have been, and yet were not, The fading twilight of joys departed.
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others.