J.W. Lord Quotes

Forgive my grief for one removed Thy creature whom I found so fair I trust he lives in Thee and there I find him worthier to be loved.

A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.

Cricket, however, has more in it than mere efficiency. There is something called the spirit of cricket, which cannot be defined.

Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.

And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!

Woman is the lesser man.

O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.

Virtue must shape itself in deed.

I waited for the train at Coventry; I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped The city's ancient legend into this.

Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.

Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

There is always change, bad customs pass and give way to better ones.

Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.

I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.

Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.

For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair.

We needs must love the highest when we see it.

That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.

For this alone on Death I wreak The wrath that garners in my heart: He put our lives so far apart We cannot hear each other speak.

Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.

From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.

Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.

And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new, That which they have done but earnest of the things which they shall do.

That which we are, we are.

Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.

It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon.

Name and fame! to fly sublime Through the courts, the camps, the schools Is to be the ball of Time, Bandied in the hands of fools.

In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.

For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.

And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!

Man's word is God in man.

O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!

Red of the Dawn Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but when shall we lay The ghost of the Brute that is walking and hammering us yet and be free?

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles whom we knew.

Ah, why Should life all labour be?

And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world she follow'd him.

In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.

So now I have sworn to bury All this dead body of hate I feel so free and so clear By the loss of that dead weight

Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.

She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.

Some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs.

The passionate heart of the poet is whirled into folly and vice.

So I find every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark where thou art not

Our wills are ours, we know not how; Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.