Quote

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.

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
Perfect
Temples
Firsts
Laid
First
Adam
World
Corner
Heaved
Stone
Fiat
Corners
Trod
Stones
Pillars
Built
Temple

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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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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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There is to me a daintiness about early flowers that touches me like poetry. They blow out with such a simple loveliness among the common herbs of pastures, and breathe their lives so unobtrusively, like hearts whose beatings are too gentle for the world.
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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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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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Maturity is most rapid in the low latitudes, where pineapples and women most do thrive.
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Ah me! the world is full of meetings such as this,--a thrill, a voiceless challenge and reply, and sudden partings after!
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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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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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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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Vulgarity is more obvious in satin than in homespun.
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It is godlike to unloose the spirit, and forget yourself in thought.
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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.
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The smallest pebble in the well of truth has its peculiar meaning, and will stand when man's best monuments have passed away.
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One gets, sensitive about losing mornings after getting a little used to them with living in a country. Each one of these endlessly varied daybreaks is an opera but once performed.
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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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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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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis