Quotes About Longing

What were all the world's alarmsTo mighty Paris when he foundSleep upon a golden bedThat first dawn in Helen's arms?

O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head,You'd know the folly of being comforted.

To long a sacrifice can make a stone of a heart

I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping...I hear it in the deep heart's core.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I lay them at your feet. Tread lightly, for you tread on my dreams.

Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?

Politics How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here's a travelled man that knows What he talks about, And there's a politician That has read and thought, And maybe what they say is true Of war and war's alarms, But O that I were young again And held her in my arms!

And no more turn aside and brood Upon love's bitter mystery;

But is there any comfort to be found? Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?

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Lui qui aurait voulu pouvoir offrir le ciel Si je pouvais t'offrir le bleu secret du ciel Brodé de lumière d'or et de reflets d'argents Le mystérieux secret, le secret éternel De la nuit et du jour, de la vie et du temps Avec tout mon amour je le mettrais à tes pieds Mais tu sais je suis pauvre et je n'ai que mes rêves Alors c'est de mes rêves qu'il faut te contenter Marche doucement, car tu marches sur mes rêves

Before I am old I shall have written him one Poem maybe as cold And passionate as the dawn.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.

Tell me not of joy: there's none Now my little sparrow's gone He, just as you, Would toy and woo, He would chirp and flatter me, He would hang the wing awhile, Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how sullen he would be!

O, she is the antidote to desire.

Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair

Absence from whom we love is worse than death.

What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd!How sweet their memory still!But they have left an aching voidThe world can never fill.

I broke the spell that held me long, The dear, dear witchery of song. I said, the poet's idle lore Shall waste my prime of years no more, For Poetry, though heavenly born, Consorts with poverty and scorn.

Love within my being. You lived with me, breath of my breath, Being in my being, nor left my side; But now the wheel of Time has turned And you are gone – no joys abide. You

There are times in the lives of most of us when we would have given all the world to be as we were but yesterday, though that yesterday had passed over us unappreciated and unenjoyed.

We smile at the ignorance of the savage who cuts down the tree in order to reach its fruit but the same blunder is made by every person who is over eager and impatient in the pursuit of pleasure.