Dante Gabriel Rossetti Quotes

It is beautiful, the world, and life itself. I am glad I have lived.

Beauty without the beloved is a like a sword through the heart.

Love is the last relay and ultimate outposts of eternity.

The worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful and has nobody to thank.

Places that are empty of you are empty of life.

I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. ... You have been mine before, How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall - I knew it all of yore. Has this been thus before? And shall not thus time's eddying flight Still with our lives our love restore In death's despite, And day and night yield one delight once more

Your eyes smile peace.

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; I am also call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell.

Beauty like hers is genius.

You have been mine before - How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar, your neck turned so, Some veil did fall, - I knew it all of yore.

The Wombat is a Joy, a Triumph, a Delight, a Madness!

Gather a shell from the strewn beach And listen at its lips: they sigh The same desire and mystery, The echo of the whole sea's speech.

Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragonfly Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky.

The sea hath no king but God alone.

Love, which is quickly kindled in the gentle heart, seized this man for the fair form that was taken from me, the manner still hurts me. Love which absolves no beloved one from loving, seized me so strongly with his charm that, as thou seest, it does not leave me yet

Sometimes thou seem'st not as thyself alone, But as the meaning of all things that are.

Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.

If God in his wisdom have brought closeThe day when I must die,That day by water or fire or airMy feet shall fall in the destined snareWherever my road may lie.

So Spring comes merry towards me here, but earns No answering smile from me, whose life is twin'd With the dead boughs that winter still must bind, And whom today the Spring no more concerns. Behold, this crocus is a withering flame; This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossom's part To breed the fruit that breeds the serpent's art. Nay, for these Spring-flowers, turn thy face from them, Nor stay till on the year's last lily-stem The white cup shrivels round the golden heart.

Sudden Light I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the light around the shore.

I am not as these are, the poet saithIn youth's pride, and the painter, among menAt bay, where never pencil comes nor pem

Her hair that lay along her back Was yellow like ripe corn.

And Love, our light at night and shade at noon,Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns awayAll shafts of shelterless tumultuous day.

Tell me now in what hidden way isLady Flora the lovely Roman?Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais,Neither of them the fairer woman?Where is Echo, beheld of no man,Only heard on river and mere-She whose beauty was more than human?-But where are the snows of yester-year?

Give honour unto Luke Evangelist; For he it was (the aged legends say) Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray.