The weary August days are long; Edmund Clarence Stedman More Quotes by Edmund Clarence Stedman More Quotes From Edmund Clarence Stedman Faith and joy are the ascensive forces of song. Edmund Clarence Stedman singingjoysong Worth, courage, honor, these indeed Edmund Clarence Stedman birthrightmilitaryhonor Men are egotists, and not all tolerant of one man's selfhood; they do not always deem the amities elective. Edmund Clarence Stedman amityegotismmen Yes, there's a luck in most things; and in none more than being born at the right time. Edmund Clarence Stedman bornright-timeluck The poet is a creator, not an iconoclast, and never will tamely endeavor to say in prose what can only be expressed in song. Edmund Clarence Stedman endeavorpoetsong The poet who does not revere his art, and believe in its sovereignty, is not born to wear the purple. Edmund Clarence Stedman purplebelieveart Progress comes by experiment, and this from ennui that leads to voyages, wars, revolutions, and plainly to change in the arts of expression; that cries out to the imagination, and is the nurse of the invention whereof we term necessity the mother. Edmund Clarence Stedman motherwarart A critic must accept what is best in a poet, and thus become his best encourager. Edmund Clarence Stedman criticspoetaccepting The critic's first labor is the task of distinguishing between men, as history and their works display them, and the ideals which one and another have conspired to urge upon his acceptance. Edmund Clarence Stedman tasksacceptancemen The imagination never dies. Edmund Clarence Stedman diesimagination Fashion is a potency in art, making it hard to judge between the temporary and the lasting. Edmund Clarence Stedman fashionjudgingart Music waves eternal wands,-- Edmund Clarence Stedman wavemusicsoul No clouds are in the morning sky, Edmund Clarence Stedman life-and-loveskymorning But every human path leads on to God; Edmund Clarence Stedman drawingstrongwish Above the clouds I lift my wing Edmund Clarence Stedman fightingcloudswings O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life! Edmund Clarence Stedman dawnspringsweet A poet must sing for his own people. Edmund Clarence Stedman poetpeople Lo, as I gaze, the statured man, Edmund Clarence Stedman menhandsyears Poetry is an art, and chief of the fine art; the easiest to dabble in, the hardest in which to reach true excellence. Edmund Clarence Stedman chiefsexcellenceart Let the winds blow! a fiercer gale Edmund Clarence Stedman blowmaywind
