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Thou hadst, for weary feet, the gift of rest.

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
Gift
Rest
Feet
Hadst
Weary
Thou

More quotes by William Watson

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Hate and mistrust are the children of blindness.
William Watson
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Too long, that some may rest, tired millions toil unblest.
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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.
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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.
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Empires dissolve and peoples disappear, song passes not away.
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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.
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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.
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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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And though circuitous and obscureThe feet of Nemesis how sure!
William Watson
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Song is not Truth, not Wisdom, but the rose Upon Truths lips, the light in Wisdom's eyes.
William Watson
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The thirst to know and understand a large and liberal discontent.
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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.
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He saw wan Woman toil with famished eyes He saw her bound, and strove to sing her free. He saw her fall'n and wrote The Bridge of Sighs And on it crossed to immortality.
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Deemest thou laborOnly is earnest?Grave is all beauty,Solemn is joy.
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Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds.
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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.
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April, April Laugh thy girlish laughter Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears.
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.
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Fiat justitia et ruant coeli. Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall. See Ferdinand I 320:1.
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We hold our hate too choice a thing, for light and careless lavishing.
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