English
Poet
English Poet
4
Because thou must not dream, thou need not despair.
3
But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not because we will.
2
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.
Bald as the bare mountain tops are bald, with a baldness full of grandeur.
0
With close-lipped Patience for our only friend, Sad Patience, too near neighbor to Despair.
-1
The pursuit of perfection, then, is the pursuit of sweetness and light.
-2
Unquiet souls. In the dark fermentation of earth, in the never idle workshop of nature, in the eternal movement, yea shall find yourselves again.
The need of expansion is as genuine an instinct in man as the need in a plant for the light, or the need in man himself for going upright. The love of liberty is simply the instinct in man for expansion.
-3
This strange disease of modern life, with its sick hurry, its divided aims.
-4
The true meaning of religion is thus, not simply morality, but morality touched by emotion.
