Quote

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.

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
Changeful
Waiting
Strikes
Ether
Hours
Weather
Beams
Dream
Somewhere
Sometimes
Sky
Fulfilment
Hour
Dearest
Fate
Waits
Dreams
Beam
Coming
Elusive

More quotes by Bayard Taylor

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By wisdom wealth is won but riches purchased wisdom yet for none.
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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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Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.
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I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.
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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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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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The bravest are the most tender the loving are the daring.
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Labor, you know, is prayer.
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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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Learn to live, and live to learn, Ignorance like a fire doth burn, Little tasks make large return.
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But still I dream that somewhere there must be The spirit of a child that waits for me.
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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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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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Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.
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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 is better than Fame.
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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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We follow and race In shifting chase, Over the boundless ocean-space! Who hath beheld when the race begun? Who shall behold it run?
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