But the gray and the cold are haunted by a beauty akin to pain, by a sense of a something wanted that never will come again. — William Wetmore Story Copy Share Image
The shadows of twilight grow, And the tiger’s ancient fierceness In my veins begins to flow. — William Wetmore Story Copy Share Image
I sing the hymn of the conquered, who fell in the Battle of Life,-The hymn of the wounded, the beaten, who died overwhelmed in… — William Wetmore Story Copy Share Image
The Poet in his ArtMust intimate the whole, and say the smallest part. — William Wetmore Story Copy Share Image
Of every noble work the silent part is best, of all expression that which can not be expressed. — William Wetmore Story Copy Share Image
Of every noble work the silent part is best; of all expression, that which cannot be expressed. — William Wetmore Story Copy Share Image
But the gray and the cold are haunted by a beauty akin to pain, by a sense of a something wanted that never will… — William Wetmore Story Copy Share Image
They only the victory win, Who have fought the good fight and have vanquished the demon that tempts us within; Who have held to… — William Wetmore Story Copy Share Image
Oh! faint delicious spring-time violet, Thine odor like a key, Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let A thought of sorrow free. — William Wetmore Story Copy Share Image
