Quote

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?

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
Fear
Forests
Gloom
Spirit
Lonely
Lake
Constantly
Thrilling
Come
Silent
Thirst
Country
Tree
Forest
Like
Hear
Weary
Thirsts
Almost
Lakes
Blasted
Voice
Voices
Amid

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The taste forever refines in the study of women.
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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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I knelt, and with the fervor of a lip unused to the cool breath of reason, told my love.
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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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Temptation hath a music for all ears.
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How like a mounting devil in the heart rules the unreined ambition.
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Flirtation is a circulating library, in which we seldom ask twice for the same volume.
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Nature's noblemen are everywhere,--in town and out of town, gloved and rough-handed, rich and poor. Prejudice against a lord, because he is a lord, is losing the chance of finding a good fellow, as much as prejudice against a ploughman because he is a ploughman.
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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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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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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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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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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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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.
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Like Melrose Abbey, large cities should especially be viewed by moonlight.
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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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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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Nature has thrown a veil of modest beauty over maidenhood and moss-roses.
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Maturity is most rapid in the low latitudes, where pineapples and women most do thrive.
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It is godlike to unloose the spirit, and forget yourself in thought.
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