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From the desert I come to thee, On a stallion shod with fire And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire.

Bayard Taylor

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Bayard Taylor
Age: 53 †
Born: 1825
Born: January 11
Died: 1878
Died: December 19
Critic
Diplomat
Explorer
Journalist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
Fire
Stallions
Desire
Winds
Left
Desert
Come
Speed
Thee
Behinds
Behind
Shod
Wind
Stallion

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Alone each heart must cover up its dead Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.
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The clouds are scudding across the moon, A misty light is on the sea The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, And the foam is flying free.
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Really,' thought I, 'we call Baltimore the 'Monumental City' for its two marble columns, and here is Edinburg with one at every street-corner!
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But who will watch my lilies, When their blossoms open white? By day the sun shall be sentry, And the moon and the stars by night!
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As I toiled up the Mount of Olives, in the very footsteps of Christ, panting with the heat and the difficult ascent, I found it utterly impossible to conceive that the Deity, in human form, had walked there before me.
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Life lives only in success.
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An enthusiastic desire of visiting the Old World haunted me from early childhood. I cherished a presentiment, amounting almost to belief, that I should one day behold the scenes, among which my fancy had so long wandered.
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I cannot assume emotions I do not feel, and must describe Jerusalem as I found it. Since being here, I have read the accounts of several travellers, and in many cases the devotional rhapsodies - the ecstacies of awe and reverence - in which they indulge, strike me as forced and affected.
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The lamp you lighted in the olden time Will show you my heart's-blood beating through the rhyme: A poet's journal, writ in fire and tears... Then slow deliverance, with the gaps of years.
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Sometimes an hour of Fate's serenest weather Strikes through our changeful sky its coming beams Somewhere above us, in elusive ether, Waits the fulfilment of our dearest dreams.
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The most annoying of all blockheads is a well-read fool.
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Peace the offspring is of Power.
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Fame is what you have taken, / Character's what you give / When to this truth you waken, / Then you begin to live.
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He teaches best, Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast, And knows their strength or weakness through his own.
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Love's humility is love's true pride.
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Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.
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The bravest are the most tender the loving are the daring.
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Departed suns their trails of splendor drew Across departed summers: whispers came From voices, long ago resolved again Into the primeval Silence, and we twain, Ghosts of our present selves, yet still the same, As in a spectral mirror wandered there.
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There may come a day Which crowns Desire with gift, and Art with truth, And Love with bliss, and Life with wiser youth!
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The maxims tell you to aim at perfection, which is well but it's unattainable, all the same.
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