Lucy Larcom Quotes
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Sometimes they seem like living shapes, - The people of the sky, - Guests in white raiment coming down From heaven, which is close by; I call them by familiar names, As one by one draws nigh.
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A part is greater than the whole; By hints are mysteries told. The fringes of eternity, - God's sweeping garment-fold, In that bright shred of glittering sea, I reach out for and hold.
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Freedom.
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O Mariner-soul, Thy quest is but begun, There are new worlds Forever to be won.
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Here sit I, as a little child; The threshold of God's door Is that clear band of chrysoprase; Now the vast temple floor, The blinding glory of the dome I bow my head before. Thy universe, O God, is home, In height or depth, to me; Yet here upon thy footstool green Content am I to be; Glad when is oped unto my need Some sea-like glimpse of Thee.
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I believe the best poetry of our times is growing too artistic; the study is too visible. If freedom and naturalness are lost out of poetry, everything worth having is lost.
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I do not own an inch of land, But all I see is mine, - The orchard and the mowing fields, The lawns and gardens fine.
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Oh, her heart’s adrift with oneOn an endless voyage gone! Night and morningHannah’s at the window binding shoes.
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By suns unsettling kist. Out through the utmost gates of space, Past where the gray stars drift, To the widening Infinite, my soul Glides on, a vessel swift, Yet loses not her anchorage In yonder azure rift.
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Richer am I than he who owns Great fleets and argosies; I have a share in every ship Won by the inland breeze, To loiter on yon airy road Above the apple-trees. I freight them with my untold dreams; Each bears my own picked crew; And nobler cargoes wait for them Than ever India knew, - My ships that sail into the East Across that outlet blue.
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Sometimes it seems to me that God's way of dealing with me is not to let me see much of my friends, those who are most to me in the spiritual life, lest I should forget that the invisible bond is the only reality. That is the only way I can reconcile myself to the inevitable separations of life and death.
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These blossoms, gathered in familiar paths, With dear companions now passed out of sight, Shall not be laid upon their graves. They live, Since love is deathless. Pleasure now nor pride Is theirs in mortal wise, but hallowing thoughts Will meet the offering, of so little worth, Wanting the benison death has made divine.