Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature. Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit. By its own moods interprets, every where. Echo or mirror seeking of itself, And makes a toy of Thought.
Samuel Taylor ColeridgeAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: October 21, 1772
- Died: July 25, 1834
Related Authors
Topics
Quotes currently Trending
I havetransported many, thousands; and to all of them, my river has beennothing but an obstacle on their travels. They travelled to seek moneyand business, and for weddings, and on pilgrimages, and the river wasobstructing their path, and the ferryman's job was to get them quicklyacross that obstacle. But for some among thousands, a few, four orfive, the river has stopped being an obstacle, they have heard itsvoice, they have listened to it, and the river has become sacred tothem, as it has...
Herman Hesse
O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand. Between their loved home and the war's desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land. Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto: 'In God is our trust.'And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave. O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Francis Scott Key
Out of the huts of history's shame. I rise. Up from a past that's rooted in pain. I rise. I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear. I rise. Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear. I rise. Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise. I rise. I rise.
Maya Angelou
The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak of a hill, with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze. Beyond and above spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight: rising into the sky was a woman’s shape to the bust, portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as I could combine. The dim forehead was crowned with a star; the lineaments below were seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark and wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud...
Charlotte Bronte
