Quotes
Quotes about Day
Venerable men! you have come down to us from a former generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you might behold this joyous day.
I thank the goodness and the grace
Which on my birth have smiled,
And made me, in these Christian days,
A happy Christian child.
Failed the bright promise of your early day.
Parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,
The last still loveliest, till--'t is gone, and all is gray.
There were his young barbarians all at play;
There was their Dacian mother: he, their sire,
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday!
He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,--
The first dark day of nothingness,
The last of danger and distress,
Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
O Mirth and Innocence! O milk and water!
Ye happy mixtures of more happy days.
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter,
Sermons and soda-water the day after.
A "strange coincidence," to use a phrase
By which such things are settled nowadays.
The light of other days is faded,
And all their glories past.
Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days!
None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise.
Behold! in Liberty's unclouded blaze
We lift our heads, a race of other days.
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams
Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.
Come to the sunset tree!
The day is past and gone;
The woodman's axe lies free,
And the reaper's work is done.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast.
The true University of these days is a Collection of Books.
I 've wandered east, I 've wandered west,
Through mony a weary way;
But never, never can forget
The luve o' life's young day!
"That's eight times to-day that you 've kissed me before."
"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure,
For there's luck in odd numbers,"says Rory O'More.
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn:
It never came a minute too soon
Nor brought too long a day.
Peace and rest at length have come
All the day's long toil is past,
And each heart is whispering, "Home,
Home at last."
No sun--no moon--no morn--no noon,
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day,
No warmth--no cheerfulness--no healthful ease,
No road, no street, no t' other side the way,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!
