Quotes from George Arnold

Life for the living, and rest for the dead!

The glass of your life is darkened, and darkly through it you see distorted and ghastly fragments of duty and destiny.

But leave me to my beer! Gold is dross, love is loss, so if I gulp my sorrows down, or see them drown in foamy draughts of old nut-brown, then I do wear the crown, without the cross!

I love this simple maiden, She grows upon me more and more, And--ask the moon who 't was that kissed, Last night upon the shore!

I hold that all the evil we know on earth finds in this violence done to love its true and legitimate birth.

Experience is bitter, but its teachings we retain; It has taught me this--who once has loved, loves never on earth again!

The living need charity more than the dead.

A silence reigns upon the air, Upon the pansies by the shore, Upon the violets, pale and fair, Upon the willow, bending o'er; The reeds and lilies silent grow, The dark green waters silent sleep, Save when the summer breezes blow, Or silvery minnows leap.

The summer passed, and autumn's blast Swept bleakly cold across the heather; The bright leaves browned, 'neath skies that frowned, Then whirled in circles to the ground, And strewed the paths we trod together.

Experience is bitter, but its teachings we retain; It has taught me this--who once has loved, loves never on earth again!

Life for the living, and rest for the dead!

I hold that all the evil we know on earth finds in this violence done to love its true and legitimate birth.

Ah, many a one has started forth with hope and purpose high; Has fought throughout a weary life, and passed all pleasure by; Has burst all flowery chains by which men aye have been enthralled; Has been stone-deaf to voices sweet, that softly, sadly called; Has scorned the flashing goblet with the bubbles on its brim; Has turned his back on jeweled hands that madly beckoned him; Has, in a word, condemned himself to follow out his plan By stern and lonely labor--and has died, a conquered man!

I love this simple maiden, She grows upon me more and more, And--ask the moon who 't was that kissed, Last night upon the shore!

I let my summer days pass idly on.

The tall grass waves o'er lowly graves, The golden sunshine floods the meadows, And in the breeze the willow-trees, That guard the tomb of Eloise, Wave to and fro, with flickering shadows.

The glass of your life is darkened, and darkly through it you see distorted and ghastly fragments of duty and destiny.

'Tis but the wraith of love; yet I linger.

What rare days were those, When my chief duty was to write a song.

O sweet September! thy first breezes bring The dry leaf's rustle and the squirrel's laughter, The cool, fresh air, whence health and vigor spring, And promise of exceeding joy hereafter.