Quote

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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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
Water
Wild
Amid
Living
Dust
Recall
Speak
Tongue
Recalls
Art
Travel
Sculpture
Sandal
Stills
Sitting
Waters
Sandals
America
Dead
Kingdoms
Shrines
Still
Beauty
Ruins
Innumerable
Soul
Upon
Painter
Pilgrim

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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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Nature has thrown a veil of modest beauty over maidenhood and moss-roses.
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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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There is no divining-rod whose dip shall tell us at twenty what we shall most relish at thirty.
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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.
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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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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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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.
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Blessed are the joymakers.
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A lamp is lit in woman's eye that souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by.
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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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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Like Melrose Abbey, large cities should especially be viewed by moonlight.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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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.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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The sin forgiven by Christ in HeavenBy man is cursed alway.
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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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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 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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Of dead kingdoms I recall the soul, sitting amid their ruins
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