Quotes About Eternity

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory— Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

He lives, he wakes—'tis Death is dead, not he.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.

For love and beauty and delight, there is no death nor change.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow

The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! Follow where all is fled!—Rome's azure sky, Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

I have sent books and music there, and all / Those instruments with which high spirits call / The future from its cradle, and the past / Out of its grave, and make the present last / In thoughts and joys which sleep, but cannot die, / Folded within their own eternity.

Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass Stains the white radiance of Eternity

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep - He hath awakened from the dream of life

And I have fitted up some chambers there Looking towards the golden Eastern air, And level with the living winds, which flow Like waves above the living waves below.— I have sent books and music there, and all Those instruments with which high spirits call The future from its cradle, and the past Out of its grave, and make the present last In thoughts and joys which sleep, but cannot die, Folded within their own eternity.

The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments---Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!

Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments. - Adonais

A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth. There

Calm as a slumbering babe, Tremendous Ocean lay. The mirror of its stillness showed The pale and waning stars

Poetry thus makes immortal all that is best and most beautiful in the world

Yes! all is past — swift time has fled away, Yet its swell pauses on my sickening mind; How long will horror nerve this frame of clay? I'm dead, and lingers yet my soul behind.

And death shall be the last embrace of her who takes the life she gave, even as a mother folding her child, says, 'Leave me not again.

I change, but I cannot die.

that great poem, which all poets, like the co-operating thoughts of one great mind, have built up since the beginning of the world.

If there are no reasons to suppose that we have existed before that period at which our existence apparently commences, then there are no grounds for supposing that we shall continue to exist after our existence has apparently ceased.

Like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread. - Adonais

Paradise spread forth beyond the shadowy grave

Narrow The heart that loves, the brain that contemplates, The life that wears, the spirit that creates One object, and one form, and builds thereby A sepulchre for its eternity. - Epipsychidion