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My own curiosity and interest are insatiable.
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No man had ever heard a nightingale,When once a keen-eyed naturalist was stirredTo study and define - what is a bird.
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Lo - a black line of birds in wavering threadBore him the greetings of the deathless dead!
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A lady 'twixt two knights' stone effigies,And every day in dusky glory steepsTheir sculptured slumber of five centuries.
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Poetry must be simple, sensuous, or impassioned.
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Until we are all free, we are none of us free.
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The children of the prophets of the Lord,Prince, priest, and people, spurned by zealot hate.Hounded from sea to sea, from state to state,The West refused them, and the East abhorred.No anchorage the known world could afford.
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The particular article ought in my opinion to be treated with absolute contempt. It is too vile to touch.
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Sweet empty sky of June without a stain,Faint, gray-blue dewy mists on far-off hillsWarm, yellow sunlight flooding mead and plain,That each dark copse and hollow overfills:
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I seem to have always one little window looking but into life.
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Alas! we wake: one scene alone remains, -The exiles by the streams of Babylon.
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I am perfectly conscious that this contempt and hatred underlies the general tone of the community towards us, and yet when I even remotely hint at the fact that we are not a favorite people I am accused of stirring up strife and setting barriers between the two sects.
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The funeral and the marriage, now, alas!We know not which is sadder to recall.
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Jews are the intensive form of any nationality whose language and customs they adopt.
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I am never going to write for the sake of writing.
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Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall standA mighty woman with a torch, whose flameIs the imprisoned lightning, and her nameMother of Exiles.
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Then Nature shaped a poet's heart - a lyreFrom out whose chords the lightest breeze that blowsDrew trembling music.
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Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
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No signs of life are here: the very prayersInscribed around are in a language dead.