Quotes
Quotes about Art
Thus heavenly hope is all serene,
But earthly hope, how bright soe'er,
Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene,
As false and fleeting as 't is fair.
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view.
From every place below the skies
The grateful song, the fervent prayer,--
The incense of the heart, --may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years.
So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.
Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart!
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
All is concentr'd in a life intense,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
But hath a part of being.
Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy.
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.
Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast.
Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou?
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead?
Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low
Some less majestic, less beloved head?
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin,--his control
Stops with the shore.
Such is the aspect of this shore;
'T is Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.
She was a form of life and light
That seen, became a part of sight,
And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye,
The morning-star of memory!
Yes, love indeed is light from heaven;
A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shared, by Alla given,
To lift from earth our low desire.
Who hath not proved how feebly words essay
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart, confess
The might, the majesty of loveliness?
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,--
And oh, that eye was in itself a soul!
Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.
Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
And to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him.
