Quotes About Beauty

I suppose there were moonless nights and dark ones with but a silver shaving and pale stars in the sky, but I remember them all as flooded with the rich indolence of a full moon.

And what with the mystery of death and bereavement and the mysticism of the Bible, with all the beauty of the mountains and their ever-changing moods, naturally this New England child became set in his ways, a Yankee mystic to the end.

The trees are Indian Princes, But soon they'll turn to Ghosts; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough; Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'Twill soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! And what will this poor Robin do? For pinching days are near.

Tantarrara! the joyous Book of Spring Lies open, writ in blossoms.

Pluck not the wayside flower; It is the traveler's dower.

Lo, thou, my Love, art fair; Myself have made thee so; Yea, thou art fair indeed, Wherefore thou shalt not need In beauty to despair; For I accept thee so, For fair. [excerpt from "Christ to His Spouse"]

Lo, thou, my Love, art fair; Myself have made thee so; Yea, thou art fair indeed, Wherefore thou shalt not need In beauty to despair; For I accept thee so, For fair.

My progress was rendered delightful by the sylvan elegance of the groves, chearful meadows, and high distant forests, which in grand order presented themselves to view.

Having contemplated this admirable grove, I proceeded towards the shrubberies on the banks of the river, and though it was now late in December, the aromatic groves appeared in full bloom.

I can look at the knot in a piece of wood until it frightens me.

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, The humble sheep a threatning horn: While the Lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.

This cabinet is formed of gold And pearl and crystal shining bright, And within it opens into a world And a little lovely moony night.

Art can never exist without Naked beauty display'd.

The narrow bud opens her beauties to The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins; Blossoms hang round the brows of morning, and Flourish down the bright cheek of modest eve...

The moon like a flowerIn heaven's high bower,With silent delight,Sits and smiles on the night.

How sweet I roam'd from field to field,And tasted all the summer's pride,Till I the prince of love beheld,Who in the sunny beams did glide!

Poetry fettered fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed, or flourish, in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish!

Abstinence sows sand all overThe ruddy limbs and flaming hair,But Desire gratifiedPlants fruits of life and beauty there.

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity... and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.

O why was I born with a different face? Why was I not born like rest of my race?

Poetry, like the moon, does not advertise anything.

Why does the sea induce these feelings of transcendence in us? Is it because an unobstructed view of overarching sky meeting endlessly stirring water is as close as we can come on this earth to a visual symbol of the infinite?

The sun sat, in immense fieriness, just above the horizon, the sea, glittering in great swatches of phosphorescent white, waiting to receive it. Then the blazing ball dived and was gone, swallowed in one big gulp by the hungry waters. Amazing how fast, once it got near it, the sun in these latitudes hastened into the sea.