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We hold our hate too choice a thing, for light and careless lavishing.

William Watson

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William Watson
Age: 77 †
Born: 1858
Born: August 2
Died: 1935
Died: August 11
Poet
Writer
Newark
Nottinghamshire
Sir William Watson
Choices
Hate
Light
Thing
Careless
Choice
Hold

More quotes by William Watson

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Deemest thou laborOnly is earnest?Grave is all beauty,Solemn is joy.
William Watson
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Personally, I do not believe that we shall have greater armaments in the future than we have had in the past. On the contrary, I believe there will be a gradual diminution in this respect.
William Watson
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His friends he loved. His direst earthly foe - Cats-I believe he did but feign to hate. My hand will miss the insinuated nose, Mine eyes the tail that wagged contempt at Fate.
William Watson
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Hate and mistrust are the children of blindness.
William Watson
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Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds.
William Watson
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A dreamer of the common dreams, A fisher in familiar streams, He chased the transitory gleams That all pursue But on his lips the eternal themes Again were new.
William Watson
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Lord of the golden tongue and smiting eyes Great out of season and untimely wise: A man whose virtue, genius, grandeur, worth, Wrought deadlier ill than ages can undo.
William Watson
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Too long, that some may rest, tired millions toil unblest.
William Watson
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On from room to room I stray,Yet mine Host can ne'er espy,And I know not to this day,Whether guest or captive I.
William Watson
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Best they honor thee Who honor in thee only what is best.
William Watson
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Empires dissolve and peoples disappear, song passes not away.
William Watson
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Threadbare his songs seem now, to lettered ken: They were worn threadbare next the hearts of men.
William Watson
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April, April Laugh thy girlish laughter Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears.
William Watson
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O ye by wandering tempest sown 'Neath every alien star, Forget not whence the breath was blown That wafted you afar! For ye are still her ancient seed On younger soil let fall— Children of Britain's island-breed, To whom the Mother in her need Perchance may one day call.
William Watson
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The after-silence, when the feast is o'er,And void the places where the minstrels stood,Differs in nought from what hath been before,And is nor ill nor good.
William Watson
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And though circuitous and obscureThe feet of Nemesis how sure!
William Watson
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Thou hadst, for weary feet, the gift of rest.
William Watson
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In this world with starry dome,Floored with gemlike plains and seas,Shall I never feel at home,Never wholly be at ease?
William Watson
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She is not old, she is not young, The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue. The haggard cheek, the hungering eye, The poisoned words that wildly fly, The famished face, the fevered hand, Who slights the worthiest in the land, Sneers at the just, contemns the brave, And blackens goodness in its grave.
William Watson
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God, eldest of Poets.
William Watson