Quotes About Mystery

Lad of Athens, faithful be To thyself, And Mystery - All the rest is Perjury

This world is not conclusion. A species stands beyond - Invisible, as Music - But positive as Sound

Whose fingers string the stalactite- Who counts the Wampum of the night

The Dark—felt beautiful—

I know that He exists. Somewhere – in silence – He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.

Why joys so scantily disburse, Why Paradise defer, Why floods are served to us in bowls,— I speculate no more.

To attempt to speak of what has been, would be impossible. Abyss has no Biographer -

The whole of Immortality Secreted by a star.

Down Time's quaint stream Without an oar, We are enforced to sail, Our Port—a secret— Our Perchance—a gale. What Skipper would Incur the risk, What Buccaneer would ride, Without a surety from the wind Or schedule of the tide?

In lands I never saw, they say, Immortal Alps look down, Whose bonnets touch the firmament, Whose sandals touch the town, ? Meek at whose everlasting feet A myriad daisies play. Which, sir, are you, and which am I. Upon an August day?

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself, 'T is that I cannot say; I only sigh,—no vehicle Bears me along that way.

Solamente el silencio nos da miedo. En la voz siempre hay algo que nos salva. Sin embargo, el silencio es lo infinito. No se le ve la cara.

It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down— It was not Night, for all the Bells Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

I hide myself within my flower, That wearing on your breast, You, unsuspecting, wear me too — And angels know the rest.

And through a Riddle, at the last-- Sagacity, must go--

The wind does, working like a hand Whose fingers brush the sky

Shadows hold their breath;

Hace unos cuantos días perdí un mundo, ¿no lo ha encontrado nadie? Lo reconoceréis por una sarta de estrellas que le ciñen la cabeza.

The meteor of birds

Nous fuyons son Visage d'autant plus que nous l'apprécions De peur que l'ineffable disgrâce de la vision Entache Notre Adoration

Somebody flings a mattress out, — The children hurry by; They wonder if It died on that

She dropt as softly as a star From out my summer's eve;

Few get enough, ? enough is one ; To that ethereal throng Have not each one of us the right To stealthily belong ?

Grief is a mystery to be lived through, not a problem to be solved