James Russell Lowell ( 10 of 106 )
An angel stood and met my gaze,
Through the low doorway of my tent;
The tent is read more
An angel stood and met my gaze,
Through the low doorway of my tent;
The tent is struck, the vision stays;
I only know she came and went.
Be noble! and the nobleness that lies
In other men, sleeping, but never dead,
Will rise in read more
Be noble! and the nobleness that lies
In other men, sleeping, but never dead,
Will rise in majesty to meet thine own.
Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character. - Among My Books, 1870.
Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character. - Among My Books, 1870.
O chime of sweet Saint Charity,
Peal soon that Easter morn
When Christ for all shall risen read more
O chime of sweet Saint Charity,
Peal soon that Easter morn
When Christ for all shall risen be,
And in all hearts new-born!
That Pentecost when utterance clear
To all men shall be given,
When all shall say My Brother here,
And hear My Son in heaven!
A woman's love
Is mighty, but a mother's heart is weak,
And by its weakness overcomes.
A woman's love
Is mighty, but a mother's heart is weak,
And by its weakness overcomes.
Fortune is the rod of the weak, and the staff of the brave.
Fortune is the rod of the weak, and the staff of the brave.
Not what we give, but what we share,--
For the gift without the giver is bare.
Not what we give, but what we share,--
For the gift without the giver is bare.
In creating, the only hard thing is to begin: a grass blade's no easier to make than an oak.
In creating, the only hard thing is to begin: a grass blade's no easier to make than an oak.
Thet tells the story! Thet's wut we shall git
By tryin' squirtguns on the burnin' Pit;
For read more
Thet tells the story! Thet's wut we shall git
By tryin' squirtguns on the burnin' Pit;
For the day never comes when it'll du
To kick off dooty like a worn-out shoe.
A weed is no more than a flower in disguise, Which is seen through at once, if love give a read more
A weed is no more than a flower in disguise, Which is seen through at once, if love give a man eyes
