| Quotes |
Topic |
| Flowers | The flower-girl's prayer to buy roses and pinks, Held out in the smoke, like stars by day. |
| Flowers | Yet here's eglantine, Here's ivy!--take them as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine. |
| Gods | And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air, Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair! And they heart the words it said-- Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead! |
| Grammar | At painful times, when composition is impossible and reading is not enough, grammars and dictionaries are excellent for distraction. |
| Grief | O, brothers! let us leave the shame and sin Of taking vainly in a plaintive mood, The holy name of Grief--holy herein, That, by the grief of One, came all our good. |
| Grief | Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not More grief than ye can weep for. That is well-- That is light grieving! |
| Ivy | That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow But thinking of a wreath, . . . I like such ivy; bold to leap a height 'Twas strong to climb! as good to grow on graves As twist about a thyrsus; pretty too (And that's not ill) when twisted round a comb. |
| Ivy | Wall must get the weather stain Before they grow the ivy. |
| Joy | Capacity for joy Admits temptation. |
| Kisses | Thy lips which spake wrong counsel, I kiss close. |
| Kisses | I was betrothed that day; I wore a troth kiss on my lips I could not give away. |
| Kisses | First time he kiss'd me, he but only kiss'd The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And ever since it grew more clean and white. |
| Larks | The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars. |
| Lilies | And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white. |
| Lilies | . . . Purple lilies Dante blew To a larger bubble with his prophet breath. |
| Lilies | And lilies white, prepared to touch The whitest thought, nor soil it much, Of dreamer turned to lover. |
| Lilies | Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots, accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer; Growing straight out of man's reach, on the hill. God only, who made us rich, can make us poor. |
| Lilies | I wish I were the lily's leaf To fade upon that bosom warm, Content to wither, pale and brief, The trophy of thy paler form. |
| Love | You were made perfectly to be loved - and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long. |
| Love | Who so loves believes the impossible. |
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