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The Poet's Pen Is The True Divining Rod Which Trembles Towards The Inner Founts Of Feeling; Bringing To Light And Use, Else Hid From All, The Many Sweet Clear Sources Which We Have Of Good And Beauty In Our Own Deep Bosoms; And Marks The Variations Of All Mind As Does The Needle.

-Philip James Bailey

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The Poet's Pen Is

Philip James Bailey

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The Poet's Pen Is The True Divining Rod Which Trembles Towards The Inner Founts Of Feeling; Bringing To Light And Use, Else Hid From All, The Many Sweet Clear Sources Which We Have Of Good And Beauty In Our Own Deep Bosoms; And Marks The Variations Of All Mind As Does The Needle.

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More From Philip James Bailey

Respect Is What We Owe; Love, What We Give.

It Is Much Less What We Do Than What We Think, Which Fits Us For The Future.

The Ground Of All Great Thoughts Is Sadness.

Envy's A Coal Comes Hissing Hot From Hell.

My Favoured Temple Is An Humble Heart.

Application Is The Price To Be Paid For Mental Acquisition. To Have The Harvest, We Must Sow The Seed.

Night Brings Out Stars As Sorrow Shows Us Truths.

Poets Are All Who Love, Who Feel Great Truths, And Tell Them; And The Truth Of Truths Is Love.

Ask Not Of Me, Love, What Is Love? Ask What Is Good Of God Above; Ask Of The Great Sun What Is Light; Ask What Is Darkness Of The Night; Ask Sin Of What May Be Forgiven; Ask What Is Happiness Of Heaven; Ask What Is Folly Of The Crowd; Ask What Is Fashion Of The Shroud; Ask What Is Sweetness Of Thy Kiss; Ask Of Thyself What Beauty Is.

Hell Is More Bearable Than Nothingness.

Dear Lord, Our God And Saviour! For Thy Gifts The World Were Poor In Thanks, Though Every Soul Were To Do Nought But Breathe Them, Every Blade Of Grass, And Every Atomie Of Earth To Utter It Like Dew.

How Slight A Chance May Raise Or Sink A Soul!

Love Spends His All, And Still Hath Store.

Life's But A Means Unto An End, That End, Beginning, Mean, And End To All Things--god.

Life Is Less Than Nothing Without Love.

Look On The Bee Upon The Wing 'mong Flowers; How Brave, How Bright His Life! Then Mark, Him Hiv'd, Cramp'd, Cringing In His Self-built, Social Cell, Thus It Is In The World-hive; Most Where Men Lie Deep In Cities As In Drifts.

Wan Night, The Shadow Goer, Came Stepping In.

Any Heart Turned Godward Feels More Joyin One Short Hour Of Prayer, Than E'er Was Raisedby All The Feasts Of Earth Since Its Foundation.

We Must Not Pluck Death From The Maker's Hand.

Evil And Good Are God's Right Hand And Left.

O, There Is Naught On Earth Worth Being Known But God And Our Own Souls!

We Live Not To Ourselves, Our Work Is Life.

For Ivy Climbs The Crumbling Hall To Decorate Decay.

Sorrow Is A Stone That Crushes A Single Bearer To The Ground, While Two Are Able To Carry It With Ease.

Prayer Is The Spirit Speaking Truth To Truth.

Let Each Man Think Himself An Act Of God, His Mind A Thought, His Life A Breath Of God; And Let Each Try, By Great Thoughts And Good Deeds, To Show The Most Of Heaven He Hath In Him.

If All Were Rich, Gold Would Be Penniless.

Mind And Night Will Meet, Though In Silence, Like Forbidden Lovers.

The Truth Of Truths Is Love.

Love Is The Art Of Hearts, And Heart Or Arts.

The Goodness Of The Heart Is Shown In Deeds Of Peacefulness And Kindness. Hand And Heart Are One Thing With The Good, As Thou Should'st Be. Do My Words Trouble Thee? Then Treasure Them, Pain Overgot Gives Peace, As Death Doth Heaven. All Things That Speak Of Heaven Speak Of Peace.

Doubt Is The Shadow Of Truth.

Night Comes, World-jewelled, . . . The Stars Rush Forth In Myriads As To Wage War With The Lines Of Darkness; And The Moon, Pale Ghost Of Night, Comes Haunting The Cold Earth After The Sun's Red Sea-death--quietless.

Music Tells No Truths.

He Hath No Power That Hath Not Power To Use.

See The Gold Sunshine Patching, And Streaming And Streaking Across The Gray-green Oaks; And Catching, By Its Soft Brown Beard, The Moss.

England! My Country, Great And Free! Heart Of The World, I Leap To Thee!

For As Nightingales Do Upon Glow-worms Feed, So Poets Live Upon The Living Light.

The Value Of A Thought Cannot Be Told.

None But God Can Fill The Perfect Whole.

The Course Of Nature Seems A Course Of Death, And Nothingness The Whole Substantial Thing.

And These Are Joys, Like Beauty, But Skin Deep.

The Sole Equality On Earth Is Death.

What Are Ye Orbs? The Words Of God? The Scriptures Of The Skies?

Youth Might Be Wise; We Suffer Less From Pains Than Pleasures.

Thou Art A Woman, And That Is Saying The Best And Worst Of Thee.

The Long Days Are No Happier Than The Short Ones.

The Death-change Comes. Death Is Another Life. We Bow Our Heads At Going Out, We Think, And Enter Straight Another Golden Chamber Of The King's Larger Than This We Leave, And Lovelier. And Then In Shadowy Glimpses, Disconnect, The Story, Flower-like, Closes Thus Its Leaves. The Will Of God Is All In All. He Makes, Destroys, Remakes, For His Own Pleasure, All.

Could We But Think With The Intensity We Love With, We Might Do Great Things.

Hell Is The Wrath Of God--his Hate Of Sin.

What Men Call Accident Is God's Own Part.

The World Is A Great Poem, And The World's The Words It Is Writ In, And We Souls The Thoughts.

When I Forget That The Stars Shine In Air-- When I Forget That Beauty Is In Stars-- When I Forget That Love With Beauty Is-- Will I Forget Thee: Till Then All Things Else.

The Strongest Passion Which I Have Is Honor.

Let Us Think Less Of Men And More Of God.

I Cannot Be Content With Less Than Heaven; Living, And Comprehensive Of All Life. Thee, Universal Heaven, Celestial All; Thee, Sacrjd Seat Of Intellective Time; Field Of The Soul 's Best Wisdom : Home Of Truth , Star-throned.

Simplicity Is Natures First Step, And The Last Of Art.

Evil Then Results From Imperfection.

I Cannot Love As I Have Loved, And Yet I Know Not Why; It Is The One Great Woe Of Life To Feel All Feeling Die.

I Run The Gauntlet Of A File Of Doubts, Each One Of Which Down Hurls Me To The Ground.

Dreams Are Rudiments Of The Great State To Come. We Dream What Is About To Happen.

The Wind Breathes Not, And The Wave Walks Softly As Above A Grave.

See The Sun! God's Crest Upon His Azure Shield, The Heavens.

As The Master So The Valet.

He Who Has Most Of Heart Knows Most Of Sorrow.

The Sun, Centre And Sire Of Light, The Keystone Of The World-built Arch Of Heaven.

Necessity, Like Electricity, Is In Ourselves And All Things, And No More Without Us Than Within Us.

I Am Tired Of Looking On What Is, One Might As Well See Beauty Never More, As Look Upon It With An Empty Eye. I Would This World Were Over. I Am Tired.

The Poet's Pen Is The True Divining Rod Which Trembles Towards The Inner Founts Of Feeling; Bringing To Light And Use, Else Hid From All, The Many Sweet Clear Sources Which We Have Of Good And Beauty In Our Own Deep Bosoms; And Marks The Variations Of All Mind As Does The Needle.

The Truth Is Perilous Never To The True, Nor Knowledge To The Wise; And To The Fool, And To The False, Error And Truth Alike, Error Is Worse Than Ignorance.

It Is Fine To Stand Upon Some Lofty Mountain Thought, And Feel The Spirit Stretch Into A View.

It Is No Great Misfortune To Oblige Ungrateful People, But An Unsupportable One To Be Forced To Be Under An Obligation To A Scoundrel.

Ungrateful People

Men Might Be Better If We Better Deemed Of Them.

Worthy Books Are Not Companions – They Are Solitudes: We Lose Ourselves In Them And All Our Cares.

The Death-bed Of A Day, How Beautiful!

A Poet Not In Love Is Out At Sea; He Must Have A Lay-figure.

Lips Like Rosebuds Peeping Out Of Snow.

Death, Thou Art Infinite; It Is Life Is Little.

America, Thou Half-brother Of The World; With Something Good And Bad Of Every Land.

Walk Boldly And Wisely.... There Is A Hand Above That Will Help You On.

Fulfill Thy Fate! Be-do-bear-and Thank God.

Man Is A Military Animal, Glories In Gunpowder, And Loves Parade.

Burn To Be Great, Pay Not Thy Praise To Lofty Things Alone. The Plains Are Everlasting As The Hills, The Bard Cannot Have Two Pursuits; Aught Else Comes On The Mind With The Like Shock As Though Two Worlds Had Gone To War, And Met In Air.

None But The Brave And Beautiful Can Love.

It Matters Not How Long We Live But How.

Blest Is He Whose Heart Is The Home Of The Great Dead And Their Great Thoughts.

One Thought Settles A Life, An Immortality.

I Have A Heart With Room For Every Joy .

Where Doubt There Truth Is - 'tis Her Shadow.

Blessings Star Forth Forever; But A Curse Is Like A Cloud, It Passes.

Death Is The Universal Salt Of States; Blood Is The Base Of All Things--law And War.

Joys Are Bubble-like--what Makes Them Bursts Them Too.

Words Are The Motes Of Thought, And Nothing More.

Kindness Is Wisdom. There Is None In Life But Needs It And May Learn.

Art Is A Man's Nature; Nature Is God's Art.

The Hero Is The World-man, In Whose Heart One Passion Stands For All, The Most Indulged.

Tis Light Translateth Night; 'tis Inspiration Expounds Experience; 'tis The West Explains The East; 'tis Time Unfolds Eternity.

I Cannot Be Content With Less Than Heaven.

When Night Hath Set Her Silver Lamp High, Then Is The Time For Study.

Death Is Another Life.

Every Believer Is God's Miracle.

Poetry Is Itself A Thing Of God; He Made His Prophets Poets; And The More We Feel Of Poesie Do We Become Like God In Love And Power,-under-makers.

The Heart Is Its Own Fate.

He Is A Fool Who Is Not For Love And Beauty. I Speak Unto The Young, For I Am Of Them And Always Shall Be.

It Is Sad To See The Light Of Beauty Wane Away, Know Eyes Are Dimming, Bosoms Shrivelling, Feet Losing Their Springs, And Limbs Their Lily Roundness; But It Is Worse To Feel The Heart-spring Gone, To Lose Hope, Care Not For The Coming Thing, And Feel All Things Go To Decay Within Us.

Ah, Nothing Comes To Us Too Soon But Sorrow.

The Worst Men Often Give The Best Advice. Our Deeds Are Sometimes Better Than Our Thoughts.

Naught But God Can Satisfy The Soul.

Obey Thy Genius, For A Minister It Is Unto The Throne Of Fate. Draw To Thy Soul, And Centralize The Rays Which Are Around Of The Divinity.

Could I Love Less, I Should Be Happier Now.

We Live In Deeds, Not Years; In Thoughts, Not Figures On A Dial. We Should Count Time By Heart Throbs. He Most Lives Who Thinks Most, Feels The Noblest, Acts The Best.

Music Lives Within Thy Lips Like A Nightingale In Roses.

Life Hath More Awe Than Death.

Stars Which Stand As Thick As Dewdrops On The Field Of Heaven.

Dewdrops, Nature's Tears, Which She Sheds In Her Own Breast For The Fair Which Die. The Sun Insists On Gladness; But At Night, When He Is Gone, Poor Nature Loves To Weep.

Imagination Is The Air Of Mind.

The Worst Way To Improve The World Is To Condemn It.

Write To The Mind And Heart, And Let The Ear Glean After What It Can.

Man Is One; And He Hath One Great Heart. It Is Thus We Feel, With A Gigantic Throb Athwart The Sea, Each Other's Rights And Wrongs; Thus Are We Men.

Nature Means Necessity.

Error Is Worse Than Ignorance.

Grief Hallows Hearts, Even While It Ages Heads.

Leave The Poor Some Time For Self-improvement. Let Them Not Be Forced To Grind The Bones Out Of Their Arms For Bread, But Have Some Space To Think And Feel Like Moral And Immortal Creatures.

All Things That Speak Of Heaven Speak Of Peace.

The Dew, 'tis Of The Tears Which Stars Weep, Sweet With Joy.

The Beautiful Are Never Desolate; But Some One Alway Loves Them--god Or Man. If Man Abandons, God Himself Takes Them.

We Love And Live In Power; It Is The Spirit's End. Mind Must Subdue; To Conquer Is Its Life.

There Is No Disappointment We Endure One-half So Great As What We Are To Ourselves.

There Is No Surer Mark Of The Absence Of The Highest Moral And Intellectual Qualities Than A Cold Reception Of Excellence.

Remember That Thy Heart Will Shed Its Pleasures As Thine Eye Its Tears, And Both Leave Loathsome Furrows.

The First And Worst Of All Frauds Is To Cheat One's Self.

Evil Is Limited. One Cannot Form A Scheme For Universal Evil.

All Are Of The Race Of God, And Have In Themselves Good.

Lowliness Is The Base Of Every Virtue, And He Who Goes The Lowest Builds The Safest.

Oh, Could We Lift The Future's Sable Shroud.

True Faith Nor Biddeth Nor Abideth Form, The Bended Knee, The Eye Uplift; Is All Which Men Need Render; All Which God Can Bear. What To The Faith Are Forms? A Passing Speck, A Crow Upon The Sky.

Life Is As Serious A Thing As Death.

Where Imperfection Ceaseth, Heaven Begins.

Perfection And Imperfection

Star Canto: Star Speaks Light, And World To World Repeats The Passage Of The Universe To God; The Name Of Christ--the One Great Word Well Worth All Languages In Earth Or Heaven.

Not A Single Path Of Thought I Tread, But That It Leads To God.

We Live In Deeds, Not Years; In Thoughts, Not Breaths; In Feelings, Not In Figures On A Dial.

Surely The Stars Are Images Of Love.

Corruption Springs From Light: 'tis One Same Power Creates, Preserves, Destroys; Matter Whereon It Works, On E'er Self-transmutative Form, Common To Now The Living, Now The Dead.

The Temples Perish, But The God Still Lives.

Fine Thoughts Are Wealth, For The Right Use Of Which Men Are And Ought To Be Accountable,-- If Not To Thee, To Those They Influence.

Who Can Mistake Great Thoughts? They Seize Upon The Mind; Arrest And Search, And Shake It; Bow The Tall Soul As By Wind; Rush Over It Like A River Reeds.

When Pride Thaws, Look For Floods.

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