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You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks which are left you are gray You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man,- Now tell me the reason I pray.

Robert Southey

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Robert Southey
Age: 68 †
Born: 1774
Born: August 12
Died: 1843
Died: March 21
Biographer
Historian
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
Bristol
Gloucestershire
Robert Southey
Men
Gray
Pray
Praying
Father
Hearty
Left
Hale
Tell
William
Young
Locks
Reason
Cried

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No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth.
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And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win. But what good came of it at last? Quoth little Peterkin. Why, that I cannot tell, said he, But 'twas a famous victory.
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What will not woman, gentle woman dare when strong affection stirs her spirit up?
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The pulpit is a clergyman's parade the parish is his field of active service.
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The grave is but the threshold of eternity. What a world were this, how unendurable its weight, If they whom death hath sundered, did not meet again!
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The solitary Bee Whose buzzing was the only sound of life, Flew there on restless wing, Seeking in vain one blossom where to fix.
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All deception in the course of life is indeed nothing else but a lie reduced to practice, and falsehood passing from words into things.
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For society, of all places I have ever been, Norwich is the best.
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And when my own Mark Antony Against young Caesar strove, And Rome's whole world was set in arms, The cause was,--all for love.
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Cupid the little greatest god.
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Ye who dwell at home, Ye do not know the terrors of the main.
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It is not for man to rest in absolute contentment. He is born to hopes and aspirations as the sparks fly upward, unless he has brutalized his nature and quenched the spirit of immortality which is his portion.
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That charity is bad which takes from independence its proper pride, from mendicity its salutary shame.
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A good man and a wise man may at times be angry with the world, at times grieved for it but be sure no man was ever discontented with the world who did his duty in it.
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Three things a wise man will not trust, The wind, the sunshine of an April day, And woman's plighted faith.
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O Reader! hast thou eer stood to see The Holly-tree? The eye that contemplates it well perceies Its glossy leaes Ordered by an Intelligence so wise As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.
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Few people give themselves time to be friends.
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Man hath a weary pilgrimage, As through the word he wends On every stage, from youth to age, Still discontent attends.
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Order is the sanity of the mind, the health of the body, the peace of the city, the security of the state. As the beams to a house, as the bones to the microcosm of man, so is order to all things.
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Love is indestructible, Its holy flame forever burneth From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.
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