Alfred Noyes Quotes

I long to get away, sometimes, from my own generation. I don't care whether it's into the past, or into the future, so long as it's away from the patter into simple realities again. I hate being a slave to my own age.
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We are so afraid of sentimentality that we're losing the power of human feeling. Our writers today understand all the brutalities and cynicisms; but how many of them understand the simple human affections that hold decent human beings together and make the world worth living in?

They wouldn't mourn for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin. Put away your muskets, lay aside the drum, Hang it by the wooden sword we made for little Peterkin!

Not far, not far into the night, These level swords of light can pierce; Yet for her faith does England fight, Her faith in this our universe; Believing Truth and Justice draw From founts of everlasting law; Therefore a Power above the State, The unconquerable Power returns. The fire, the fire that made her great Once more upon her altar burns. Once more, redeemed and healed and whole, She moves to the Eternal Goal.

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding — Riding — riding — The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

Enough of dreams! No longer mock The burdened hearts of men! Not on the cloud, but on the rock Build thou thy faith again; O range no more the realms of air, Stoop to the glen-bound streams; Thy hope was all too like despair: Enough, enough of dreams.

Your dreamers may dream it The shadow of a dream, Your sages may deem it A bubble on the stream; Yet our kingdom draweth nigher With each dawn and every day, Through the earthquake and the fire "Love will find out the way."

Grant us the single heart once more That mocks no sacred thing, The Sword of Truth our fathers wore When Thou wast Lord and King. Let darkness unto darkness tell Our deep unspoken prayer; For, while our souls in darkness dwell, We know that Thou art there.

The fool hath said … The fool hath said And we, who deemed him wise, We, who believed that Thou wast dead, How should we seek Thine eyes? How should we seek to Thee for power, Who scorned Thee yesterday? How should we kneel in this dread hour? Lord, teach us how to pray.

Stand like a beaten anvil, when thy dream
Is laid upon thee, golden from the fire.
Flinch not, though heavily through that furnace-gleam
The black forge-hammers fall on thy desire.

Demoniac giants round thee seem to loom.
'Tis but the world-smiths heaving to and fro.
Stand like a beaten anvil. Take the doom
Their ponderous weapons deal thee, blow on blow.

Needful to truth as dew-fall to the flower
Is this wild wrath and this implacable scorn.
For every pang, new beauty, and new power,
Burning blood-red shall on thy heart be born.

Stand like a beaten anvil. Let earth's wrong
Beat on that iron and ring back in song.

Heart of my heart, we cannot die! Love triumphant in flower and tree, Every life that laughs at the sky Tells us nothing can cease to be: One, we are one with the song to-day, One with the clover that scents the world, One with the Unknown, far away, One with the stars, when earth grows old.

Descend, descend, Urania, speak To men in their own tongue! Leave not the breaking heart to break Because thine own is strong. This is the law, in dream and deed, That heaven must walk on earth! O, shine upon the humble creed That holds the heavenly birth.

Your God still walks in Eden, between the ancient trees, Where Youth and Love go wading through pools of primroses. And this is the sign we bring you, before the darkness fall, That Spring is risen, is risen again, That Life is risen, is risen again, That Love is risen, is risen again, and Love is Lord of all.

But just as the world grew right again, We heard a wanderer out on the plain Singing what none of us understood; Yet we thought that the world grew thrice more sweet And the meadows were blossoming under his feet. And we felt a grand and beautiful fear, For we knew that a marvellous thought drew near; So we kept the glass for a little while: And the skies grew deeper and twice as bright, And the seas grew soft as a flower of light, And the meadows rippled from stile to stile; And memories danced in a musical throng Thro' the blossom that scented the wonderful song.

Beauty is a fading flower, Truth is but a wizard's tower, Where a solemn death-bell tolls, And a forest round it rolls.

High in the old oak pulpit This Lord of all misrule— I think it was Will Summers That once was Shakespeare's fool — Held up his hand for silence, And all the church grew still: "And are you snoring yet," he said, "Or have you slept your fill?