Jean Ingelow Quotes - Page 2

Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.

How short our happy days appear! How long the sorrowful!

How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.

The moon is bleached as white as wool, And just dropping under; Every star is gone but three, And they hang far asunder,-- There's a sea-ghost all in gray, A tall shape of wonder!

O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile: So have all sages said, all poets sung.

Work is its own best earthly meed, Else have we none more than the sea-born throng Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar.

When our thoughts are born, Though they be good and humble, one should mind How they are reared, or some will go astray And shame their mother.

Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.

A birthday:-and now a day that rose With much of hope, with meaning rife- A thoughtful day from dawn to close: The middle day of human life.

Quoth the Ocean, "Dawn! O fairest, clearest, Touch me with thy golden fingers bland; For I have no smile till thou appearest For the lovely land.

Reign, and keep life in this our deep desireOur only greatness is that we aspire.

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.

And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.

You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?

For hearts where wakened love doth lurk, How fine, how blest a thing is work! For work does good when reasons fail.

And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.

The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow.

People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.

Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man. Behold, "There is a God," thou sayest. Thou sayest well: In that thou sayest all. To Be is more Of wonderful, than being, to have wrought, Or reigned, or rested.

Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.

O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!

And the guelder rose In a great stillness dropped, and ever dropped, Her wealth about her feet.