Quotes from young edward ii

Prayer ardent opens heaven.

Can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?

High stations tumult, but not bliss create; None think the Great unhappy, but the Great.

Virtue alone has majesty in death.

This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, thro' which it rolls, must all have end. What then is man? The smallest part of nothing.

This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.

A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.

Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.

Not all the pride of beauty; Those eyes, that tell us what the sun is made of; Those lips, whose touch is to be bought with life; Those hills of driven snow, which seen are felt: All these possessed are nought, but as they are The proof, the substance of an inward passion, And the rich plunder of a taken heart.

The man of wisdom is the man of years.

I fear no farther hell than that I feel.

How blessings brighten as they take their flight!

The course of Nature is the art of God.

Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain, It, makes us wander, wander earth around, To fly that tyrant Thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.

What angels guard, no longer dare neglect, Slighting thyself, affront not God's respect.

The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.

The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart: The proud to gain it toils on toils endure, The modest shun it, but to make it sure.