Quotes About Beauty

The Flower that smells the sweetest is Shy and Lowly.

The sky is low, the clouds are mean, A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day How some one treated him; Nature, like us, is sometimes caught Without her diadem. - Beclouded

The pleasure-house is dust:—behind, before, This is no common waste, no common gloom; But Nature, in due course of time, once more Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom. She leaves these objects to a slow decay, That what we are, and have been, may be known; But at the coming of the milder day, These monuments shall all be overgrown.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration.

Before me begging did she stand,     Pouring out sorrows like a sea;     Grief after grief:—on English Land     Such woes I knew could never be;     And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature   Was beautiful to see; a Weed of glorious feature!

to be incapable of a feeling of poetry, in my sense of the word, is to be without love of human nature

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines / Of sportive wood run wild

I wandered lonely as a cloud

Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way.

How Nature by extrinsic passion first / Peopled my mind with beauteous forms or grand' (Book I.)

The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless, are scattered at the feet of man, like flowers.

They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude And then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils

What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower, We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind;

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:— We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; Close up those barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.

Wit is more necessary than beauty and I think no young woman ugly that has it, and no handsome woman agreeable without it.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Love is like a lion's tooth

To lovers, I devise their imaginary world, with whatever they may need, as the stars of the sky, the red, red roses by the wall, the snow of the hawthorn, the sweet strains of music, and aught else they may desire to figure to each other the lastingness and beauty of their love.

It is difficult to realize how great a part of all that is cheerful and delightful in the recollections of our own life is associated with trees.

Baptiste and Running Stream spread their robes on a soft, grassy spot thirty feet from the fire under a sky clustered with stars thick and big as columbine in June.

A million butterflies rose up from South America, All together, and flew in a gold storm toward Spain...

That God once loved a garden we learn in Holy writ. And seeing gardens in the Spring I well can credit it.