Philip Smith > Quotes

“For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful — faery’s child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes:”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell! They’d banish us, you know.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride In her sepulchre there by the sea — In her tomb by the side of the sea.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild, and do not once remember”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“They hadna sail’d a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift11 grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly12 grew the sea.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“So we’ll go no more a roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found,”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“Come live with me and be my Love.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“Jabberwocky ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!“” He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought — So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy. ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“The Lamb Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life & bid thee feed, By the stream & o’er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, wooly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee, Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a Lamb. He is meek & he is mild; He became a little child. I a child & thou a lamb. We are called by his name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee!”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” Merely this and nothing more.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“Holy Sonnet XIV Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for, you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o‘erthrow me, and bend Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new. I, like an usurp’d town, t’another due, Labour to admit you, but oh, to no end, Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend, But is captiv’d, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, But am betroth’d unto your enemy: Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems

“They that have power to hurt and will do none,”
― Philip Smith, 100 Best-Loved Poems