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I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.

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
Thee
Shall
Dies
Love

More quotes by Bayard Taylor

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Peace the offspring is of Power.
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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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Love's humility is love's true pride.
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The healing of the world is in its nameless saints. Each separate star seems nothing, but a myriad scattered stars break up the night and make it beautiful.
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Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.
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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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The maxims tell you to aim at perfection, which is well but it's unattainable, all the same.
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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.
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Alone each heart must cover up its dead Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.
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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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Eccentricity is developed monomania.
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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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Life lives only in success.
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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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Love is better than Fame.
Bayard Taylor
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Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.
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Labor, you know, is prayer.
Bayard Taylor
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And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, Are singing the selfsame strain.
Bayard Taylor
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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.
Bayard Taylor