Quotes About Beauty

But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet ..Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy

I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death.

Let me write not for fame and laurel, but from the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful even if my night's labors be burnt each morning and no eye ever shine upon them.

How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more Beautiful than Beauty's self.

The two divinest things the world has got— A lovely woman and a rural spot.

But what, without the social thought of thee, Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!

Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.

What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should'st move my heart so potently?

tis very sweet to look into the fair and open face of heaven, - to breathe a prayer full in the smile of the blue firmament.

I can feel the daisies growing over me.

No estoy seguro de nada excepto de la santidad del afecto del Corazón y la verdad de la Imaginación. Aquello que la imaginación capta como Belleza ha de ser verdad, haya existido antes o no.

Stop and consider! life is but a day; A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan? Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown; The reading of an ever-changing tale; The light uplifting of a maiden's veil; A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air; A laughing schoolboy, without grief or care, Riding the springy branches of an elm.

And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?

Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine

Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne

To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.

On the green of the hill We will drink our fill Of golden sunshine, Till our brains intertwine With the glory and grace of Apollo!

In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 70

Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self. There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun; As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear 40 Was with its stored thunder labouring up.

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

For what has made the sage or poet write but the fair paradise of Nature's light?

How astonishingly does the chance of leaving the world impress a sense of its natural beauties on us … I muse with the greatest affection on every flower I have known from my infancy.