There is no hope the future will but turn the old sand in the falling glass of time.
Richard Henry Stoddard
Source: Wikipedia
Summer or winter, day or night, The woods are an ever new delight; They give us peace, and they make us strong, Such wonderful balms to them belong: So, living or dying, I'll take mine ease Under the trees, under the trees.
peace living strong wonderful trees night day delight summer winter woods dying give
We love in others what we lack in ourselves, and would be everything, but what we are.
There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again.
dream pain heart
Once, when the days were ages, And the old Earth was young, The high gods and the sages From Nature's golden pages Her open secrets wrung.
nature secret age
There is no death. The thing that we call death Is but another, sadder name for life.
death names life death
We love in others what we lack ourselves, and would be everything but what we are.
marriage would be
Silence is the speech of love, The music of the spheres above.
silence spheres speech
A face at the window, a tap on the pane, who is it that wants me tonight in the rain?
rain tonight want
Day is the Child of Time, And Day must cease to be: But Night is without a sire, And cannot expire, One with Eternity.
children night eternity
fall glasses sand
Heaven is not gone, but we are blind with tears, Groping our way along the downward slope of Years!
years heaven tears
We have two lives about us,Two worlds in which we dwell,Within us and without us,Alternate Heaven and Hell:-Without, the somber Real,Within, our hearts of hearts, the beautiful Ideal.
beautiful heart real
Given the books of a man, it is not difficult, I think, to detect therein the personality of the man, and the station in life to which he was born.
book reading men
Joy may be a miser, But Sorrow's purse is free.
joy sorrow may
With no companion but the constant Muse, Who sought me when I needed her ah, when Did I not need her, solitary else?
needs muse poet
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