This article on an author is a stub. You can help out with Wikiquote by expanding it!
And, though circuitous and obscure, The feet of Nemesis how sure!
"Europe at the Play", line 33, in The Year of Shame (London: John Lane, 1897), p. 75.
April, April, Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears!
"Song (April, April)", line 1, in The Hope of the World and Other Poems (London: John Lane, 1898), p. 41.
Epigrams of Art, Life, and Nature (1884)
Liverpool: Gilbert G. Walmsley, 1884. No pagination
The Poet gathers fruit from every tree, Yea, grapes from thorns and figs from thistles he. Pluck'd by his hand, the basest weed that grows Towers to a lily, reddens to a rose.
III, line 1
Man looks at his own bliss, considers it, Weighs it with curious fingers; and 'tis gone.
XI, line 3.
God, by the earlier sceptic, was exiled; The later is more lenient grown and mild: He sanctions God, provided you agree To any other name for deity.
XII. "Thinkers, Past and Present", line 1.
Flower-fondled, clasp'd in ivy's close caress, It seems with Nature, yet apart.
XVII. "The Ruined Abbey", line 1.
To keep in sight Perfection, and adore The vision, is the artist's best delight; His bitterest pang, that he can ne'er do more Than keep her long'd-for loveliness in sight.
XXXVII, line 1.
His friends he loved. His fellest earthly foes— Cats—I believe he did but feign to hate. My hand will miss the insinuated nose, Mine eyes the tail that wagg'd contempt at Fate.
L. "An Epitaph", line 1.
Earth is less fragrant now, and heaven more sweet.
LXI. "A Maiden's Epitaph", line 4.
Wordsworth's Grave and Other Poems (1890)
London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1890
Best they honour thee Who honour in thee only what is best.
"The True Patriotism", line 13; p. 30.
In this house with starry dome, Floored with gemlike plains and seas, Shall I never feel at home, Never wholly be at ease?
On from room to room I stray, Yet mine Host can ne’er espy, And I know not to this day Whether guest or captive I.
O ye by wandering tempest sown Neath every alien star, Forget not whence the breath was blown That wafted you afar! For ye are still her ancient seed On younger soil let fall— Children of Britain’s island-breed, To whom the Mother in her need Perchance may one day call.
Empires dissolve and peoples disappear, Song passes not away.
"Lacrymæ Musarum", line 114; p. 9.
The after-silence, when the feast is o'er, And void the places where the minstrels stood, Differs in nought from what hath been before, And is nor ill nor good.