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It is the month of June, The month of leaves and roses, When pleasant sights salute the eyes, And pleasant scents the noses.

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
Scent
Spring
Months
Noses
Eyes
Month
Scents
Eye
Pleasant
Sights
Leaves
Salute
Rose
Roses
Summer
June
Sight

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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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I love to go and mingle with the young In the gay festal room--when every heart Is beating faster than the merry tune, And their blue eyes are restless, and their lips Parted with eager joy, and their round cheeks Flush'd with the beautiful motion of the dance.
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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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O, when the heart is, full, when bitter thoughts come crowding thickly up for utterance, and the poor common words of courtesy are such a very mockery, how much the bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
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Of dead kingdoms I recall the soul, sitting amid their ruins
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How like a mounting devil in the heart rules the unreined ambition.
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Blessed are the joymakers.
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Vulgarity is more obvious in satin than in homespun.
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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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The dust is old upon my sandal-shoon, And still I am a pilgrim I have roved From wild America to Bosphor's waters, And worshipp'd at innumerable shrines Of beauty and the painter's art, to me, And sculpture, speak as with a living tongue, And of dead kingdoms, I recall the soul, Sitting amid their ruins.
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Flirtation is a circulating library, in which we seldom ask twice for the same volume.
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The expressive word quiet defines the dress, manners, bow, and even physiognomy of every true denizen of St. James and Bond street.
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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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The taste forever refines in the study of women.
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One lamp — thy mother’s love — amid the stars Shall lift its pure flame changeless, and before The throne of God, burn through eternity - Holy — as it was lit and lent thee here.
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Temptation hath a music for all ears.
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Youth is beautiful its friendship is precious the intercourse with it is a purifying release from the worn and stained harness of older life.
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The Spring is here--the delicate footed May, With its slight fingers full of leaves and flowers, And with it comes a thirst to be away. In lovelier scenes to pass these sweeter hours.
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Some noble spirits mistake despair for content.
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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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