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Long on the wave reflected lustres of play.

Samuel Rogers

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Samuel Rogers
Age: 92 †
Born: 1763
Born: July 30
Died: 1855
Died: December 18
Banker
Poet
Writer
Author of an Ode to superstition
S Rogers
Saml Rogers
Reflected
Sunset
Wave
Play
Long

More quotes by Samuel Rogers

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Gentle to others, to himself severe.
Samuel Rogers
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Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.
Samuel Rogers
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Think nothing done while aught remains to do.
Samuel Rogers
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Mine be a cot beside the hill A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near.
Samuel Rogers
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Fireside happiness, to hours of ease Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
Samuel Rogers
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Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise! Each stamps its image as the other flies!
Samuel Rogers
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I lived to write, and wrote to live.
Samuel Rogers
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Then never less alone than when alone.
Samuel Rogers
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Man to the last is but a froward child So eager for the future, come what may, And to the present so insensible.
Samuel Rogers
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By many a temple half as old as Time.
Samuel Rogers
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To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
Samuel Rogers
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Go! you may call it madness, folly You shall not chase my gloom away! There 's such a charm in melancholy I would not if I could be gay.
Samuel Rogers
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When with care we have raised an imaginary treasure of happiness, we find at last that the materials of the structure are frail and perishing, and the foundation itself is laid in the sand.
Samuel Rogers
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Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.
Samuel Rogers
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It doesn't much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find next morning that it was someone else.
Samuel Rogers
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I came to the place of my birth and cried: The friends of my youth, where are they?--and an echo answered, Where are they?
Samuel Rogers
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Every day a little life, a blank to be inscribed with gentle thoughts.
Samuel Rogers
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The soul of music slumbers in the shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before!
Samuel Rogers
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I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind, a thousand images And I spring up as girt to run a race!
Samuel Rogers
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A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.
Samuel Rogers