Above the clouds I lift my wing To hear the bells of Heaven ring; Some of their music, though my fights be… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Above the clouds Copy Share Image
Whither away, Bluebird, Whither away? The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky Thou still canst find the color of thy… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Blast Copy Share Image
No clouds are in the morning sky, The vapors hug the stream, Who says that life and love can die In all… — Edmund Clarence Stedman And love Copy Share Image
The poet is a creator, not an iconoclast, and never will tamely endeavor to say in prose what can only be expressed… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Creator Copy Share Image
Give us a man of God's own mould Born to marshall his fellow-men; One whose fame is not bought and sold At… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Abraham Copy Share Image
Lo, as I gaze, the statured man, Built up from you large hand appears: A type that nature wills to plan But… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Built Copy Share Image
Natural emotion is the soul of poetry, as melody is of music; the same faults are engendered by over-study of either art;… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Art Copy Share Image
Alas, by what rude fate Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet, Then part forever on their courses fleet. — Edmund Clarence Stedman Alas Copy Share Image
Fashion is a potency in art, making it hard to judge between the temporary and the lasting. — Edmund Clarence Stedman Art Copy Share Image
Music waves eternal wands,-- Enchantress of the souls of mortals! — Edmund Clarence Stedman Death Copy Share Image
Genius does not need a special language; it uses newly whatever tongue it finds. — Edmund Clarence Stedman Doe Copy Share Image
Look on this cast, and know the hand That bore a nation in its hold; From this mute witness understand What Lincoln… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Bores Copy Share Image
No, he was no such charlatan-- Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-Pan-- Full of gasconade and bravado, But a regular, rich Don Rataplane, Santa… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Bravado Copy Share Image
The weary August days are long; The locusts sing a plaintive song, The cattle miss their master's call When they see the… — Edmund Clarence Stedman August Copy Share Image
Science has but one fashion-to lose nothing once gained. — Edmund Clarence Stedman Accounts Copy Share Image
The critic's first labor is the task of distinguishing between men, as history and their works display them, and the ideals which… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Acceptance Copy Share Image
War! war! war! Heaven aid the right! God move the hero's arm in the fearful fight! God send the women sleep in… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Aids Copy Share Image
Is there a rarer being, Is there a fairer sphere Where the strong are not unseeing, And the harvests are not sere;… — Edmund Clarence Stedman Dues Copy Share Image
A critic must accept what is best in a poet, and thus become his best encourager. — Edmund Clarence Stedman Accepting Copy Share Image
O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life! O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true! — Edmund Clarence Stedman Dawn Copy Share Image
The poet who does not revere his art, and believe in its sovereignty, is not born to wear the purple. — Edmund Clarence Stedman Art Copy Share Image
Yes, there's a luck in most things; and in none more than being born at the right time. — Edmund Clarence Stedman Born Copy Share Image
