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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.

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
Long
Sun
Selves
Suns
Silence
Remembrance
Whispers
Present
Voices
Departed
Came
Mirror
Resolved
Spectral
Voice
Ghost
Splendor
Primeval
Stills
Mirrors
Drew
Wandered
Still
Across
Ghosts
Summers
Self
Summer
Trails
Twain

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Those who would attain to any marked degree of excellence in a chosen pursuit must work, and work hard for it, prince or peasant.
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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 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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The native Jewish families in Jerusalem, as well as those in other parts of Palestine, present a marked difference to the Jews of Europe and America. They possess the same physical characteristics - the dark, oblong eye, the prominent nose, the strongly-marked cheek and jaw - but in the latter, these traits have become harsh and coarse.
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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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Swelling in anger or sparkling in glee.
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Love's humility is love's true pride.
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Peace the offspring is of Power.
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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 love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.
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Alone each heart must cover up its dead Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.
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Sweeter than the stolen kiss Are the granted kisses
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The Prophet's words were true The mouth of Ali is the golden door Of Wisdom. When his friends to Ali bore These words, he smiled and said: And should they ask The same until my dying day, the task Were easy for the stream from Wisdom's well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
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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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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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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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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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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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Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.
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