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O Trade, O Trade! Would thou wert dead!The time needs heart - 'tis tired of head.

Sidney Lanier

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Sidney Lanier
Age: 39 †
Born: 1842
Born: February 3
Died: 1881
Died: September 7
Hymnwriter
Musician
Poet
Writer
Macon
Georgia
Head
Needs
Heart
Would
Wert
Time
Thou
Tired
Trade
Dead

More quotes by Sidney Lanier

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Gradually I find that my whole soul is merging itself into this business of writing, and especially of writing poetry. I am going to try it and am going to test, in the most rigid way I know, the awful question whether it is my vocation.
Sidney Lanier
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Let my name perish, -- the poetry is good poetry and the music is good music, and beauty dieth not, and the heart that needs it will find it.
Sidney Lanier
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I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies, In the freedom that fills all the space 'twixt the marsh and the skies.
Sidney Lanier
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Death lieth still in the way of life, Like as a stone in the way of a brook I will sing against thee, Death, as the brook does, I will make thee into music which does not die.
Sidney Lanier
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Music is love in search of a word.
Sidney Lanier
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Look out, Death: I am coming.-Art thou not glad? what talks we'll have.-What memories of old battles.-Come, bring the bowl, Death I am thirsty.
Sidney Lanier
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Verse is a set of specially related sounds, repeated aloud.
Sidney Lanier
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Leap through the Mystery of death as the circus-rider leaps through the papered hoop ... find Life ambling along beneath us on the Other Side.
Sidney Lanier
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If you want to be found stand where the seeker seeks.
Sidney Lanier
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Virtues are acquired through endeavor, which rests wholly upon yourself.
Sidney Lanier
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My priciple is, the artist shall put forth, humbly & lovingly, without bitterness, the very best & highest that is within him,utterly regardless of contemporary criticism.
Sidney Lanier
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When I hear music, it seems to me that all the sins of my life pass slowly by me with veiled faces, lay their hands on my head, and say softly, My child.
Sidney Lanier
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Ye marshes, how candid and simple and nothing-withholding and free, Ye publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea.
Sidney Lanier
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Into the woods, my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent, Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame. But the olives they were not blind to Him, The little gray leaves were kind to Him: The thorn-tree had a mind to Him, When into the woods He came.
Sidney Lanier
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Music is love searching for a word.
Sidney Lanier