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Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art.
Thomas Campbell
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Thomas Campbell
Age: 66 †
Born: 1777
Born: July 27
Died: 1844
Died: June 15
Journalist
Musicologist
Poet
Writer
Glasgow
Scotland
Philosophy
Arches
Teach
Storms
Asks
Prepare
Art
Fill
Part
Storm
Thou
Sky
Triumphal
Proud
Arch
More quotes by Thomas Campbell
Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day, spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.
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Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all.
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Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!
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Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a lovelorn heart pursuing, Read you not the wrong you're doing In my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing Wed or cease to woo.
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He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
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The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
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Ye mariners of England! That guard our native seas Whose flag has braved a thousand years, The battle and the breeze!
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The only thing that is fundamental (real) is consciousness itself all else is virtual- i.e., a result of an exchange of information within consciousness.
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Love! the surviving gift of Heaven, The choicest sweet of Paradise, In life's else bitter cup distilled.
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The smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
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On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
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The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
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The popularity of that baby-faced boy, who possessed not even the elements of a good actor, was a hallucination in the public mind, and a disgrace to our theatrical history.
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O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, To waft us home the message of despair?
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On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I, No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.
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Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.
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The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.
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Beauty's witching sway is now to me a star that's fallen-a dream that's passed away.
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One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.
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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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