Quotes
Quotes about Gold
No night so wild but brings the constant sun
With love and power untold;
No time so dark but through its woof there run
Some blessed threads of gold.
I'm growing fonder of my staff;
I'm growing dimmer in the eyes;
I'm growing fainter in my laugh;
I'm growing deeper in my sighs;
I'm growing careless of my dress;
I'm growing frugal of my gold;
I'm growing wise; I'm growing--yes,--
I'm growing old!
This was the truest warrior
That ever buckled sword;
This the most gifted poet
That ever breathed a word;
And never earth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen
On the deathless page truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.
Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold.
This child is not mine as the first was;
I can not sing it to rest;
I can not lift it up fatherly,
And bless it upon my breast.
Yet it lies in my little one's cradle,
And sits in my little one's chair,
And the light of the heaven she's gone to
Transfigures its golden hair.
There comes Emerson first, whose rich words, every one,
Are like gold nails in temples to hang trophies on;
Whose prose is grand verse while his verse the Lord knows
Is some of it pr-- No, 't is not even prose!
O golden Silence, bid our souls be still,
'T is but a little faded flower,
But oh, how fondly dear!
'T will bring me back one golden hour,
Through many a weary year.
The blessed damozel leaned out
From the gold bar of Heaven:
Her eyes were deeper than the depth
Of waters stilled at even;
She had three lilies in her hand,
And the stars in her hair were seven.
Now landsmen all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree
If your soul is n't fettered to an office stool
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule:
Stick close to your desks and never go to sea
And you all may be Rulers of the Queen's Navee.
The golden time of Long Ago.
Whence comes solace? Not from seeing,
What is doing, suffering, being;
Not from noting Life's conditions,
Not from heeding Time's monitions;
But in cleaving to the Dream
And in gazing at the Gleam
Whereby gray things golden seem.
The windy lights of Autumn flare;
I watch the moonlit sails go by;
I marvel how men toil and fare,
The weary business that they play!
Their voyaging is vanity,
And fairy gold is all their gain,
And all the winds of winter cry,
"My Love returns no more again."
The Golden Rule works like gravitation.
Golden hours of vision come to us in this present life, when we are at our best, and our faculties work together in harmony.
I 'd rather be handsome than homely;
I 'd rather be youthful than old;
If I can't have a bushel of silver
I'll do with a barrel of gold.
From the winter's gray despair,
From the summer's golden languor,
Death, the lover of Life,
Frees us for ever.
The sunshine of thine eyes,
(O still celestial beam!)
Whatever it touches it fills
With the life of its lambent gleam.
The sunshine of thine eyes,
Oh, let it fall on me!
Though I be but a mote of the air,
I could turn to gold for thee.
Love must kiss that mortal's eyes
Who hopes to see fair Arcady.
No gold can buy you entrance there;
But beggared Love may go all bare--
No wisdom won with weariness;
But Love goes in with Folly's dress--
No fame that wit could ever win;
But only Love may lead Love in.
You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorn. You shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.
The gods are growing old;
The stars are singing Golden hair to gray
Green leaf to yellow leaf,--or chlorophyl
To xanthophyl, to be more scientific.
As I came down the Highgate Hill,
The Highgate Hill, the Highgate Hill,
As I came down the Highgate Hill
I met the sun's bravado,
And saw below me, fold on fold,
Grey to pearl and pearl to gold,
This London like a land of old,
The land of Eldorado.
O star on the breast of the river!
O marvel of bloom and grace!
Did you fall right down from heaven,
Out of the sweetest place?
You are white as the thoughts of an angel,
Your heart is steeped in the sun;
Did you grow in the Golden City,
My pure and radiant one?"
"Nay, nay, I fell not out of heaven;
None gave me my saintly white;
It slowly grew from the darkness,
Down in the dreary night.
From the ooze of the silent river,
I win my glory and grace,
White souls fall not, O my poet,
They rise to the sweetest place."
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay your golden cushion down;
Rise up! come to the window, and gaze with all the town.
If it were possible to heal sorrow by weeping and to raise the dead with tears, gold were less prized than grief.
