Home › By Author › R. W. Gilder
Quotes by R. W. Gilder
A man not perfect, but of heart So high, of such heroic rage, That even his hopes became a part Of earth's eternal heritage.— filed under Character
What babe new born is this that in a manger cries? Near on her lowly bed his happy mother lies. Oh, see the air is shaken with white and heavenly wings- This is the Lord of all the earth, this is the King of Kings.— filed under Christmas
None who e'er knew her can believe her dead; Though, should she die, they deem it well might be Her spirit took its everlasting flight In summer's glory, by the sunset sea, That onward through the Golden Gate is fled. Ah, where that bright soul is cannot be night.— filed under Death
What if thou be saint or sinner, Crooked gray-beard, straight beginner,- Empty paunch, or jolly dinner, When Death thee shall call. All alike are rich and richer, King with crown, and cross-legged stitcher, When the grave hides all.— filed under Death
Ye living soldiers of the mighty war, Once more from roaring cannon and the drums And bugles blown at morn, the summons comes; Forget the halting limb, each wound and scar: Once more your Captain calls to you; Come to his last review!— filed under Death
We lean on Faith; and some less wise have cried, "Behold the butterfly, the seed that's cast!" Vain hopes that fall like flowers before the blast! What man can look on Death unterrified?— filed under Faith
In Heaven's happy bowers There blossom two flowers, One with fiery glow And one as white as snow; While lo! before them stands, With pale and trembling hands, A spirit who must choose One, and one refuse.— filed under Flowers-Rose
Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee A lesson of humanity : To every mother's heart forlorn, In every house the Christ is born.— filed under Humanity
Against the darkness outer God's light his likeness takes, And he from the mighty doubter The great believer makes.— filed under Light
P. 48. I love her doubting and anguish; I love the love she withholds, I love my love that loveth her, And anew her being moulds.— filed under Love
Song XV. Love, Love, my Love. The best things are the truest! When the earth lies shadowy dark below Oh, then the heavens are bluest!— filed under Love
"Whose name was writ in water!" What large laughter Among the immortals when that word was brought! Then when his fiery spirit rose flaming after, High toward the topmost heaven of heavens up-caught! "All hail! our younger brother!" Shakespeare said, And Dante nodded his imperial head.— filed under Name
What is a Sonnet? 'Tis the pearly shell That murmurs of the far-off, murmuring sea; A precious jewel carved most curiously; It is a little picture painted well. What is a Sonnet? 'Tis the tear that fell From a great poet's hidden ecstacy; A two-edged sword, a star, a song-ah me! Sometimes a heavy tolling funeral bell.— filed under Poetry
"Give me a theme," the little poet cried, "And I will do my part," "'Tis not a theme you need," the world replied; "You need a heart."— filed under Poets
In the embers shining bright A garden grows for thy delight, With roses yellow, red, and white. But, O my child, beware, beware! Touch not the roses growing there, For every rose a thorn doth bear.— filed under Prudence
From all the misty morning air, there comes a summer sound, A murmur as of waters from skies, and trees, and ground. The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo.— filed under Sows
Oh, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will, "Polly!-Polly! - The cows are in the corn! Oh, where's Polly?"— filed under Sows
Quotation and Originality. Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme, Have not we sworn it, many a time, That we no more our verse would scrawl, For Shakespeare he had said it all!— filed under Shakespeare
The smile of her I love is like the dawn Whose touch makes Memnon sing: O see where wide the golden sunlight flows- The barren desert blossoms as the rose!— filed under Smiles
and Days. I count my time by times that I meet thee; These are my yesterdays, my morrows, noons, And nights, these are my old moons and my new moons. Slow fly the hours, fast the hours flee, If thou art far from or art near to me: If thou art far, the bird's tunes are no tunes; If thou art near, the wintry days are Junes.— filed under Time
'Tis night upon the lake. Our bed of boughs Is built where-high above-the pine-tree soughs. 'Tis still, and yet what woody noises loom Against the background of the silent gloom! One well might hear the opening of a flower If day were hushed as this.— filed under Trees And Plants-Palm
I am a woman-therefore I may not Call to him, cry to him, Fly to him, Bid him delay not!— filed under Woman