Bayard Taylor Quotes

60 Sourced Quotes

From the Desert I come to thee
On a stallion shod with fire;
And the winds are left behind
In the speed of my desire.
Under thy window I stand,
And the midnight hears my cry:
I love thee, I love but thee,
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!

Bayard Taylor
And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy's bonfire spread.

Bayard Taylor
By wisdom wealth is won; but riches purchased wisdom yet for none.

Bayard Taylor
To Truth's house there is a single door, which is experience.

Bayard Taylor
Really,' thought I, 'we call Baltimore the 'Monumental City' for its two marble columns, and here is Edinburg with one at every street-corner!

Bayard Taylor
Could one live on the sense of beauty alone, exempt from the necessity of 'creature comforts,' a sea-voyage would be delightful.

Bayard Taylor
Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few,
And soon the grassy coverlet of God
Spreads equal green above their ashes pale.

Bayard Taylor
The nearest approach I have ever seen to the symmetry of ancient sculpture was among the Arab tribes of Ethiopia. Our Saxon race can supply the athlete, but not the Apollo.

Bayard Taylor
It is an agreeable and yet a painful sense of novelty to stand for the first time in the midst of a people whose language and manners are different from one's own.

Bayard Taylor
Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.

Bayard Taylor
Departed suns their trails of splendor drew
Across departed summers: whispers came
From voices, long ago resolved again
Into the primeval Silence, and we twain,
Ghosts of our present selves, yet still the same,
As in a spectral mirror wandered there.

Bayard Taylor
Sometimes an hour of Fate's serenest weather Strikes through our changeful sky its coming beams; Somewhere above us, in elusive ether, Waits the fulfilment of our dearest dreams.

Bayard Taylor
Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.

Bayard Taylor
He teaches best,
Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast,
And knows their strength or weakness through his own.

Bayard Taylor
The lamp you lighted in the olden time Will show you my heart's-blood beating through the rhyme: A poet's journal, writ in fire and tears... Then slow deliverance, with the gaps of years...

Bayard Taylor
The aquilegia sprinkled on the rocks
A scarlet rain; the yellow violet
Sat in the chariot of its leaves, the phlox
Held spikes of purple flame in meadows wet,
And all the streams with vernal-scented reed
Were fringed, and streaky bellow of miskodeed.

Bayard Taylor
Although Damascus is considered the oldest city in the world, the date of its foundation going beyond tradition, there are very few relics of antiquity in or near it.

Bayard Taylor
There may come a day
Which crowns Desire with gift, and Art with truth,
And Love with bliss, and Life with wiser youth!

Bayard Taylor
But who will watch my lilies, When their blossoms open white? By day the sun shall be sentry, And the moon and the stars by night!

Bayard Taylor
Oh! what waves of crime and bloodshed have swept like the waves of a deluge down the valley of the Rhine! War has laid his mailed hand on those desolate towers and ruthlessly torn down what time has spared, yet he could not mar the beauty of the shore, nor could Time himself hurl down the mountains that guard it.

Bayard Taylor
So far as female beauty is concerned, the Circassian women have no superiors. They have preserved in their mountain home the purity of the Grecian models, and still display the perfect physical loveliness, whose type has descended to us in the Venus de Medici.

Bayard Taylor
The clouds are scudding across the moon,
A misty light is on the sea;
The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune,
And the foam is flying free.

Bayard Taylor
In the glory which overhangs Palestine afar off, we imagine emotions which never come, when we tread the soil and walk over the hallowed sites.

Bayard Taylor
The healing of the world is in its nameless saints. Each separate star seems nothing, but a myriad scattered stars break up the night and make it beautiful.

Bayard Taylor
Wrapped in his sad-colored cloak, the Day, like a Puritan, standeth
Stern in the joyless fields, rebuking the lingering color,--
Dying hectic of leaves and the chilly blue of the asters,--
Hearing, perchance, the croak of a crow on the desolate tree-top.

Bayard Taylor