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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Waters
Moon
Water
Heart
Like
Unrest
Charmed

More quotes by Alexander Smith

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Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse. If we attempt to steal a glimpse of its features it disappears.
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In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, and the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter, morning and evening - no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a reverent meekness in the air.
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I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.
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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
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A brave soul is a thing which all things serve.
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God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.
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Yet through all, we know this tangled skein is in the hands of One, Who sees the end from the beginning: He shall unravel all.
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Thoughts must come naturally, like wild-flowers they cannot be forced in a hot-bed, even although aided by the leaf-mould of your past.
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In my garden I spend my days, in my library I spend my nights. My interests are divided between my geraniums and my books. With the flower I am in the present with the book I am in the past.
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Vanity in its idler moments is benevolent, is as willing to give pleasure as to take it, and accepts as sufficient reward for its services a kind word or an approving smile.
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We bury love Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
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If you wish to preserve your secret, wrap it up in frankness.
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My garden, with its silence and pulses of fragrance that come and go on the airy undulations, affects me like sweet music. Care stops at the gates, and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
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An old novel has a history of its own.
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Fame is but an inscription on a grave, and glory the melancholy blazon on a coffin lid.
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We twain have met like the ships upon the sea, Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet: One little hour! and then, away they speed On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam, To meet no more.
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Winter does not work only on a broad scale he is careful in trifles.
Alexander Smith
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Nature never quite goes along with us. She is somber at weddings, sunny at funerals, and she frowns on ninety-nine out of a hundred picnics.
Alexander Smith
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Christmas is the day that holds all time together.
Alexander Smith