William Story
William Story
William Wetmore Storywas an American sculptor, art critic, poet, and editor...
ProfessionSculptor
Date of Birth12 February 1819
constant content daily doubts hear instrument man phrase sweet tires woman
Man is content to know that he is loved,And tires the constant phrase "I love" to hear;But woman doubts the instrument is brokeUnless she daily hear the sweet refrain.
broke constant content daily doubt doubts hear instrument man phrase sweet tires unless woman
Man is content to know that he is loved, And tires the constant phrase "I love" to hear; But woman doubts the instrument is broke Unless she daily hear the sweet refrain.
battle died fell hymn sing
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.
We live as much in all that we have lostAs what we own.
lost
We live as much in all that we have lost As what we own.
black eyes hard love sharp tenderness
Those black eyes I once so praisedNow are hard and sharp and cold;Where's the love that through them blazed?Where's the tenderness of old?
black eyes hard love praised sharp tenderness
Those black eyes I once so praised Now are hard and sharp and cold; Where's the love that through them blazed? Where's the tenderness of old?
hate love turn
Hate me an hour, and then turn roundAnd love me truly, just one minute.
hate love round turn
Hate me an hour, and then turn round And love me truly, just one minute.
ardent dreams fooled glorious longings mirage sweet
Give me the old enthusiasms back,Give me the ardent longings that I lack, --The glorious dreams that fooled me in my youth,The sweet mirage that lured me on its track. . . .
ardent dreams fooled glorious longings mirage sweet
Give me the old enthusiasms back, Give me the ardent longings that I lack, -- The glorious dreams that fooled me in my youth, The sweet mirage that lured me on its track. . . .
beauty cold gray
But the gray and the cold are hauntedBy a beauty akin to pain, --By a sense of a something wanted,That never will come again.
beauty cold gray haunted
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.
discord loose love sour strings
Nothing can be sour and sharpAs a love that has decayed --On the loose strings of the harpOnly discord can be made.