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I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

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Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Age: 70 †
Born: 1836
Born: November 2
Died: 1907
Died: March 19
Editor
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Portsmouth
New Hampshire
Heavy
Tiger
Rose
Roses
Garden
Tigers
Sweet
Gorgeous
Flaky
Grow
Eastern
Slippers
Grows
Lady
Peas
White
Snow
Blossoms
Like
Red
Lilies

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Come watch with me the shaft of fire that glows in yonder West the fair, frail palaces, The fading Alps and archipelagoes and great cloud continents of sunset-seas.
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The fate of the worm refutes the pretended ethical teaching of the proverb, which assumes to illustrate the advantage of early rising and does so by showing how extremely dangerous it is.
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A glance, a word -- and joy or pain befalls.... How slight the links are in the chain that binds us to our destiny!
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The possession of unlimited power will make a despot of almost any man. There is a possible Nero in the gentlest human creature that walks.
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What is slang in one age sometimes goes into the vocabulary of the purist in the next.
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No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original.
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Decoration Day is the most beautiful of our national holidays.... The grim cannon have turned into palm branches, and the shell and shrapnel into peach blossoms.
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What is lovely never dies, but passes into other loveliness, Star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air.
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The ocean moans over dead men's bones.
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O harp of life, so speedily unstrung!
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The ring of a false coin is not more recognizable than that of a rhyme setting forth a false sorrow.
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All the best sands of my life are somehow getting into the wrong end of the hourglass. If I could only reverse it! Were it in my power to do sowould I?
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The young girl in my story is to be as sensitive to praise as a prism is to light. Whenever anybody praises her she breaks into colors.
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So I sit there kicked my heels, thinking about New Orleans, and watching a morbid blue-bottle fly attempt to commit suicide by butting his head against the windowpane.
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My mind lets go a thousand things, Like dates of wars and deaths of kings
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My father invested his money so securely in the banking business that he was never able to get any of it out again.
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Shakespeare is forever coming into our affairs -- putting in his oar, so to speak -- with some pat word or sentence.
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With the tears a Land hath shed. Their graves should ever be green.
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It is the Lord's Day, and I do believe that cheerful hearts and faces are not unpleasant in His sight.
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What is a day to an immortal soul! A breath, no more.
Thomas Bailey Aldrich