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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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Jean Ingelow
Age: 77 †
Born: 1820
Born: March 17
Died: 1897
Died: July 20
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Boston
England
Orris
Youth
Marigolds
Side
Buoyant
Turn
Sunny
Teens
Sides
Teenage
Turns
Hopes
Inspirational
Teenager
Like
Toward

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O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile: So have all sages said, all poets sung.
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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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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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What change has made the pastures sweet And reached the daisies at my feet, And cloud that wears a golden hem? This lovely world, the hills, the sward-- They all look fresh, as if our Lord But yesterday had finished them.
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I have lived to thank God that all my prayers have not been answered.
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I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster, Nor long summer bide so late And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, For some things are ill to wait.
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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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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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From henceforth thou shalt learn that there is love To long for, pureness to desire, a mount Of consecration it were good to scale.
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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.
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It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.
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I am athirst for God, the living God.
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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.
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Quoth the Ocean, Dawn! O fairest, clearest, Touch me with thy golden fingers bland For I have no smile till thou appearest For the lovely land.
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There's no dew left on the daisies and clover there's no rain left in heaven.
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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.
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A healthful hunger for a great idea is the beauty and blessedness of life.
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People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.
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