Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, A host in the sunshine, an army in June, The people God sends us to set our heart free.
Whether it be to failure or success, the first need of being is endurance ? to endure with gladness if we can, with fortitude in any event.
Set me a task in which I can put something of my very self, and it is a task no longer; it is joy; it is art.
Thank God for poverty That makes and keeps us free, And lets us go our unobtrusive way, Glad of the sun and rain, Upright, serene, humane, Contented with the fortune of a day.
The first need of being is endurance; to endure with gladness if we can, with fortitude in any event.
The glad indomitable sea, the strong white sun.
A fact merely marks the point where we have agreed to let investigation cease.
The greatest joy in nature is the absence of man.
And here?s to the night of our delight, that held the stars in tether, when her little shoes and my big boots were under the bed together.
The life we give to beauty returns to us again.
Art thou the topmost apple The gathers could reach, Reddening on the bough? Shall I not take thee?
The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry, of bugles going by.
Dark alley, near midnight, silent door, loud knock, moment of silence, footsteps groping down stairs, rattle of key in lock, door opened -- and there lamp held high above his head, stands your dark Celtic velvet inspired mystic eloquent refined W.B.Y. himself, the William Blake of this smaller generation.
There is a passion for perfection which you will rarely see fully developed; but you may note this fact, that in successful lives it is never wholly lacking.
Have little care that life is brief, and less that art is long. Success is in the silences though fame is in the song.
There is only one way in the world to be distinguished. Follow your instinct! Be yourself, and you'll be somebody. Be one more blind follower of the blind, and you will have the oblivion you desire.
Here?s to the day that wondrous May, a-roaming through the heather, when her little shoes and my big boots were out on the hills together.
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir, we must rise and follow her; when from every hill of flame, she calls and calls each vagabond by name.
Here's to the day when it is May and care as light as a feather, when your little shoes and my big boots go tramping over the heather.
There paused to shut the door a fellow called the Wind, with mystery before, and reticence behind.
I often wish . . . that I could rid the world of the tyranny of facts. What are facts but compromises? A fact merely marks the point where we have agreed to let investigation cease.
Thy coming is companioned by presences of bliss; the rivers and the little leaves all know how good it is.
I took a day to search for God, And found Him not; but as I trod, By rocky ledge, through woods untamed, Just where one scarlet lily flamed, I saw His footprint in the sod.
What are facts but compromises? A fact merely marks the point where we have agreed to let investigation cease.
Indifference may not wreck a man's life at any one turn, but it will destroy him with a kind of dry-rot in the long run.