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 the strife…The hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the broken in heart,Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desperate part. — William Wetmore Story Copy Share
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
