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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Alexander Smith 1830-1867 John Bartlett

    Like a pale martyr in his shirt of fire.
          A Life Drama. Sc. 2.
    In winter, when the dismal rain
  Comes down in slanting lines,
And Wind, that grand old harper, smote
  His thunder-harp of pines.
          A Life Drama. Sc. 2.
    A poem round and perfect as a star.
          A Life Drama. Sc. 2.
              Some books are drenchèd sands
On which a great soul’s wealth lies all in heaps,
Like a wrecked argosy.
          A Life Drama. Sc. 2.
    The saddest thing that befalls a soul
Is when it loses faith in God and woman.
          A Life Drama. Sc. 12.
    We twain have met like the ships upon the sea, 1 
Who hold an hour’s converse, so short, so sweet;
One little hour! And then, away they speed
On lonely paths, through mist and cloud and foam,
To meet no more.
          A Life Drama. Part iv.
    We hear the wail of the remorseful winds
In their strange penance. And this wretched orb
Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world,
Homeless and sobbing through the deep she goes.
          Unrest and Childhood.
    The soul of man is like the rolling world,
One half in day, the other dipt in night;
The one has music and the flying cloud,
The other, silence and the wakeful stars.
              Each time we love,
We turn a nearer and a broader mark
To that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes.
          City Poem: A Boy’s Dream.
    Time has fallen asleep in the afternoon sunshine.
          City Poem: Dreamthorpe.
      The man who in this world can keep the whiteness of his soul is not likely to lose it in any other.
          City Poem: Dreamthorpe.
      Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
          City Poem: The Fear of Dying.
      Everything is sweetened by risk.
          City Poem: The Fear of Dying.
      In life there is nothing more unexpected and surprising than the arrivals and departures of pleasure. If we find it in one place to-day, it is vain to seek it there to-morrow. You can not lay a trap for it.
          City Poem: The Fear of Dying.
Note 1.
Longfellow: The Theologian’s Tale: Elizabeth, page 644. Thomas Moore: The Meeting of the Ships, page 644, note. Edward Bulwer-Lytton: A Lament, page 631. [back]