Quote

If e'er I win a parting token, 'Tis something that has lost its power-- A chain that has been used and broken, A ruin'd glove, a faded flower Something that makes my pleasure less, Something that means--forgetfulness.

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
Means
Ruin
Glove
Lost
Ruins
Token
Makes
Chains
Tokens
Power
Flower
Parting
Used
Broken
Forgetfulness
Mean
Winning
Gloves
Something
Pleasure
Faded
Less
Chain

More quotes by Nathaniel Parker Willis

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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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The soul of man createth its own destiny.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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Temptation hath a music for all ears.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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How like a mounting devil in the heart rules the unreined ambition.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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Gratitude is not only the memory but the homage of the heart- rendered to God for his goodness.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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!
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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?
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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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It is godlike to unloose the spirit, and forget yourself in thought.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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The children of the poor are so apt to look as if the rich would have been over-blest with such! Alas for the angel capabilities, interrupted so soon with care, and with after life so sadly unfulfilled.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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Maturity is most rapid in the low latitudes, where pineapples and women most do thrive.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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!
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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!
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis