Dante Gabriel Rossetti Quotes
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From the fix'd place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove Within the gulf to pierce Its path; and now she spoke as when The stars sang in their spheres.
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A Sonnet is a moment's monument,-Memorial from the Soul's eternityTo one dead deathless hour.
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And Love, our light at night and shade at noon,Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns awayAll shafts of shelterless tumultuous day.
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Even as the moon grows queenlier in mid-spaceWhen the sky darkens, and her cloud-rapt carThrills with intenser radiance from afar,-So lambent, lady, beams thy sovereign graceWhen the drear soul desires thee.
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Now while we speak, the sun speeds forth: can I Or thou assure him of his goal? God's breath Even at this moment haply quickeneth The air to a flame; till spirits, always nigh Though screen'd and hid, shall walk the daylight here.
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I have been here before,But when or how I cannot tell:I know the grass beyond the door,The sweet, keen smell,The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
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Now kiss, and think that there are really those, My own high-bosom'd beauty, who increase Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way! Through many years they toil; then on a day They die not, - for their life was death, - but cease; And round their narrow lips the mould falls close.
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Conception, my boy, fundamental brain work, is what makes all the difference in art.
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Nay, come up hither. From this wave-wash'd mound Unto the furthest flood-brim look with me; Then reach on with thy thought till it be drown'd. Miles and miles distant though the last line be, And though thy soul sail leagues and leagues beyond,- Still, leagues beyond those leagues, there is more sea.
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The sun was gone now; the curl'd moon Was like a little feather Fluttering far down the gulf; and now She spoke through the still weather. Her voice was like the voice the stars Had when they sang together.
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Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell.
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Beauty like hers is genius.
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Thou fill'st from the wingèd chalice of the soulThy lamp, O Memory, fire-wingèd to its goal.
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Still we say as we go,- 'Strange to think by the wayWhatever there is to know, That shall we know one day.'
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At length their long kiss severed, with sweet smart:And as the last slow sudden drops are shedFrom sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled,So singly flagged the pulses of each heart.
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The blessed damozel lean'd outFrom the gold bar of Heaven;Her eyes were deeper than the depthOf waters still'd at even;She had three lilies in her hand,And the stars in her hair were seven.
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I am not as these are, the poet saithIn youth's pride, and the painter, among menAt bay, where never pencil comes nor pem
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We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod, Whose lamps are stirr'd continually With prayer sent up to God; And see our old prayers, granted, melt Each like a little cloud.
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We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Is sometimes felt to be, While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His Name audibly.
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If the light isIt is because God said 'Let there be light.'
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The worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful and has nobody to thank.
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Sometimes thou seem'st not as thyself alone,But as the meaning of all things that are.
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Gather a shell from the strewn beach And listen at its lips: they sighThe same desire and mystery,The echo of the whole sea's speech.
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If God in his wisdom have brought closeThe day when I must die,That day by water or fire or airMy feet shall fall in the destined snare Wherever my road may lie.