Quote

Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies- Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies! You lie down to your shady slumber And wake with a bug in your ear, And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

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Nathaniel Parker Willis
Age: 61 †
Born: 1806
Born: January 20
Died: 1867
Died: January 20
Author
Journalist
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Portland
Maine
Nathanael Parker Willis
Like
Hungry
Nests
Cottage
Ears
Pie
Vine
Walks
Bugs
Shady
Grace
Flies
Cottages
Mountaineer
Morning
Talks
Graces
Shod
Lying
Shock
Slumber
Damsel
Love
Simplicity
Vines
Pies
Life
Wake
Nest
Shocks

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Flirtation is a circulating library, in which we seldom ask twice for the same volume.
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Temptation hath a music for all ears.
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The soul of man createth its own destiny.
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I knelt, and with the fervor of a lip unused to the cool breath of reason, told my love.
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There is no divining-rod whose dip shall tell us at twenty what we shall most relish at thirty.
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T is the work of many a dark hour, many a prayer, to bring the heart back from an infant gone.
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Blessed are the joymakers.
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I'm weary of my lonely but And of its blasted tree, The very lake is like my lot, So silent constantly-- I've liv'd amid the forest gloom Until I almost fear-- When will the thrilling voices come My spirit thirsts to hear?
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How like a mounting devil in the heart rules the unreined ambition.
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The perfect world, by Adam trod, Was the first temple--built by God-- His fiat laid the corner stone, And heaved its pillars, one by one.
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The lily and the rose in her fair face striving for precedence.
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Vulgarity is more obvious in satin than in homespun.
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Of dead kingdoms I recall the soul, sitting amid their ruins
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A lamp is lit in woman's eye that souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by.
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The night is made for tenderness,--so still that the low whisper, scarcely audible, is heard like music,--and so deeply pure that the fond thought is chastened as it springs and on the lip made holy.
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Gratitude is not only the memory but the homage of the heart- rendered to God for his goodness.
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There is a gentle element, and man may breathe it with a calm, unruffled soul, and drink its living waters, till his heart is pure and this is human happiness.
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The rain is playing its soft pleasant tune fitfully on the skylight, and the shade of the fast-flying clouds across my book passed with delicate change.
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How beautiful it is for a man to die Upon the walls of Zion! to be called Like a watch-worn and weary sentinel, To put his armour off, and rest in heaven!
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Like Melrose Abbey, large cities should especially be viewed by moonlight.
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