Turn, turn, my wheel! Turn round and round
Without a pause, without a sound:
So spins the flying world away I
This clay, well mixed with marl and sand,
Follows the motion of my hand;
For some must follow, and some command,
Though all are made of clay!
Figures that almost move and speak.
| author = Longfellow
| work = Keramos.
| place = L. 236.
| topic = Potterty
| page = 620
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 3
| text = <poem>And yonder by Nankin, behold!
The Tower of Porcelain, strange and old,
Uplifting to the astonished skies
Its ninefold painted balconies,
With balustrades of twining leaves,
And roofs of tile, beneath whose eaves
Hang porcelain bells that all the time
Ring with a soft, melodious chime;
While the whole fabric is ablaze
With varied tints, all fused in one
Great mass of color, like a maze
Of flowers illumined by the sun.
Said one among them: "Surely not in vain
My substance of the common Earth was ta'en
And to this Figure moulded, to be broke,
Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again."
All this of Pot and Potter—Tell me then,
Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?
Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?
POTTERY
Paupertas omnium artium repertrix.
Poverty is the discoverer of all the arts.
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.
L'or meme à la laideur donne un teint de beauté:
Mais tout devient affreux avec la pauvreté.
Gold gives an appearance of beauty even to ugliness: but with poverty everything becomes frightful.
Oh, the little more, and how much it is!
And the little less, and what worlds away.
Needy knife-grinder! whither are ye going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order;
Bleak blows the blast—your hat has got a hole in it.
So have your breeches.
Thank God for poverty
That makes and keeps us free,
And lets us go our unobtrusive way,
Glad of the sun and rain,
Upright, serene, humane,
Contented with the fortune of a day.
Bliss Carman—The Word at Saint Kavin's.
Paupertatis onus patienter ferre memento.
Patiently bear the burden of poverty.
Dionysius Cato—Disticha. Lib. I. 21.
He is now fast rising from affluence to poverty.
The beggarly last doit.
And plenty makes us poor.
Content with poverty, my soul I arm;
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
Dryden—Third Book of Horace. Ode 29.
Living from hand to mouth.
Du Bartas—DwineWeekesandWorkes. Second Week. First Day. Pt. rV.
The greatest man in history was the poorest.
Emerson—Domestic Life.
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so./poem>
| author = Goldsmith
| work = Deserted Village.
| place = L. 413.
| topic = Poverty
| page = 620
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 21
| text = <poem>The nakedness of the indigent world may be
clothed from the trimmings of the vain.
| author = Goldsmith
| work = Vicar of Wakefield. Ch. IV.
| seealso = (See also Shelley under Labor)
| topic = Poverty
| page = 620
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 22
| text = <poem>Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Gray—Elegy in a Country Churchyard. St. 13.
Poverty is no sin.
PIerbert—Jacula Prudentum.
Yes, child of suffering, thou may'st well be sure
He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor!
O God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!
