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Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.

Jean Ingelow

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Jean Ingelow
Age: 77 †
Born: 1820
Born: March 17
Died: 1897
Died: July 20
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Boston
England
Orris
Away
Flowers
Light
Opening
Come
Dear
Good
Flower
Things
Thoughts
Childish
Would
Waiting
Drift
Like
Face
Asleep
Faces
Somewhat

More quotes by Jean Ingelow

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Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man.
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You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?
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A healthful hunger for a great idea is the beauty and blessedness of life.
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There is but halting for the wearied foot The better way is hidden. Faith hath failed One stronger far than reason mastered her. It is not reason makes faith hard, but life.
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O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!
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And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.
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People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.
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Youth! youth! how buoyant are thy hopes! they turn, like marigolds, toward the sunny side.
Jean Ingelow
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I am athirst for God, the living God.
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I don't want to die. But I want to be dead.
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Work is its own best earthly meed, Else have we none more than the sea-born throng Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar.
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When I remember something which I had, But which is gone, and I must do without, I sometimes wonder how I can be glad, Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout It makes me sigh to think on it,--but yet My days will not be better days, should I forget.
Jean Ingelow
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What is thy thought? There is no miracle? There is a great one, which thou hast not read, And never shalt escape. Thyself, O man, Thou art the miracle. Ay, thou thyself, Being in the world and of the world, thyself, Hast breathed in breath from Him that made the world. Thou art thy Father's copy of Himself,-- Thou art thy Father's miracle.
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The moon is bleached as white as wool, And just dropping under Every star is gone but three, And they hang far asunder,-- There's a sea-ghost all in gray, A tall shape of wonder!
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I opened the doors of my heart. And behold, There was music within and a song, And echoes did feed on the sweetness, repeating it long. I opened the doors of my heart. And behold, There was music that played itself out in aeolian notes: Then was heard, as a far-away bell at long intervals tolled.
Jean Ingelow
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O sleep! O sleep! Do not forget me. Sometimes come and sweep, Now I have nothing left, thy healing hand Over the lids that crave thy visits bland, Thou kind, thou comforting one. For I have seen his face, as I desired, And all my story is done. O, I am tired.
Jean Ingelow
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When our thoughts are born, Though they be good and humble, one should mind How they are reared, or some will go astray And shame their mother.
Jean Ingelow
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Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
Jean Ingelow
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Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.
Jean Ingelow
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we wish for more in life rather than more of it.
Jean Ingelow