Quotes

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry.

We dance round in a ring and suppose, But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

Oh, Brignal banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen.

A Babylonish dialect Which learned pedants much affect.

It is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say it lightens.

Back out of all this now too much for us, Back in a time made simple by the loss Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather, There is a house that is no more a house Upon a farm that is no more a farm And in a town that is no more a town.

If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well It were done quickly; if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We’d jump the life to come.

But me they’ll lash in hammock, drop me deep. Fathoms down, fathoms down, how I’ll dream fast asleep. I feel it stealing now. Sentry, are you there? Just ease these darbies [manacles] at the wrist, And roll me over fair! I am sleepy, and the oozy weeds about me twist.

This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

First there’s the children’s house of make believe, Some shattered dishes underneath a pine, The playthings in the playhouse of the children. Weep for what little things could make them glad.

Time will rust the sharpest sword, Time will consume the strongest cord; That which molders hemp and steel, Mortal arm and nerve must feel.

For he by geometric scale, Could take the size of pots of ale.

Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

Here are your waters and your watering place. Drink and be whole again beyond confusion.

This even-handed justice.

One’s-Self I sing, a simple separate person, Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.

To lure this tassel-gentle back again.

Have I not walked without an upward look Of caution under stars that very well Might not have missed me when they shot and fell? It was a risk I had to take—and took.

Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.

And wisely tell what hour o’ th’ day The clock doth strike, by algebra.

How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

That looks in on to a mood apart.

I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people.

To confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.