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Quotes by R. H. Stoddard
Around our pillows golden ladders rise, And up and down the skies, With winged sandals shod, The angels come, and go, the Messengers of God! Nor, though they fade from us, do they depart- It is the childly heart: We walk as heretofore, Adown their shining ranks, but see them nevermore.— filed under Angels
Prouvaire's Song at the Barricade. She wears a rose in her hair, At the twilight's dreamy close: Her face is fair,-how fair Under the rose!— filed under Beauty
Garden of Verses. The Sun's Travels. Children are the keys of Paradise; They alone are good and wise, Because their thoughts, their very lives, are prayer.— filed under Childhood
If there is anything that will endure The eye of God, because it still is pure, It is the spirit of a little child, Fresh from his hand, and therefore undefiled.— filed under Childhood
Day is the Child of Time, And Day must cease to be: But Night is without a sire, And cannot expire, One with Eternity.— filed under Death
A voice of greeting from the wind was sent; The mists enfolded me with soft white arms; The birds did sing to lap me in content, The rivers wove their charms, - And every little daisy in the grass Did look up in my face, and smile to see me pass!— filed under Delight
Often Profaned. We grow like flowers, and bear desire, The odor of the human flowers.— filed under Desire
We love in others what we lack ourselves, and would be everything but what we are.— filed under Discretion
Not that the heavens the little can make great, But many a man has lived an age too late.— filed under Greatness
The wild November come at last Beneath a veil of rain; The night wind blows its folds aside, Her face is full of pain. The latest of her race, she takes The Autumn's vacant throne: She has but one short moon to live, And she must live alone.— filed under Months-November
Once, when the days were ages, And the old Earth was young, The high gods and the sages From Nature's golden pages Her open secrets wrung. S.— filed under Nature
I loved the Sea. Whether in calm it glassed the gracious day With all its light, the night with all its fires; Whether in storm it lashed its sullen spray, Wild as the heart when passionate youth expires; Or lay, as now, a torture to my mind, In yonder land-locked bay, unwrinkled by the wind.— filed under Opinion
Thou wert before the Continents, before The hollow heavens, which like another sea Encircles them and thee, but whence thou wert, And when thou wast created, is not known, Antiquity was young when thou wast old.— filed under Opinion
With no companion but the constant Muse, Who sought me when I needed her-ah, when Did I not need her, solitary else?— filed under Poets
Divinest Autumn! who may paint thee best, Forever changeful o'er the changeful globe? Who guess thy certain crown, thy favorite crest, The fashion of thy many-colored robe?— filed under Sows
1604. Song. But let me silent be: For silence is the speech of love, The music of the spheres above.— filed under Silence
Heaven is not gone, but we are blind with tears, Groping our way along the downward slope of Years!— filed under Tears
Day and night my thoughts incline To the blandishments of wine, Jars were made to drain, I think; Wine, I know, was made to drink.— filed under Wine And Spirits