“One of those gifted ones that walk the earth,
Like angels in their beauty, and the while
The air is filled with music from their wings.”

(31st January 1829) Lines to the Author after Reading the Sorrows of Rosalie
The London Literary Gazette, 1829

Adopted from Wikiquote. Last update June 3, 2021. History

Help us to complete the source, original and additional information

Do you have more details about the quote "One of those gifted ones that walk the earth, Like angels in their beauty, and the while The air is filled with music…" by Letitia Elizabeth Landon?

Letitia Elizabeth Landon785

English poet and novelist 1802–1838

Related quotes

“[Alvine] ’Tis one of those bright fictions that have made
The name of Greece only another word
For love and poetry; with a green earth—
Groves of the graceful myrtle — summer skies,
Whose stars are mirror'd in ten thousand streams—
Winds that move but in perfume and in music,
And, more than all, the gift of woman's beauty.
What marvel that the earth, the sky, the sea,
Were filled with all those fine imaginings
That love creates, and that the lyre preserves!”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802–1838) English poet and novelist

Bacchus and Ariadne from The London Literary Gazette (2nd November 1822) Dramatic Scene - II.
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)

“He is like an angel who floats for a little while on this planet and touches with his wings the canvas.”

Karel Appel (1921–2006) Dutch painter, sculptor, and poet

“Come on in. The earth, like the sun, like the air, belongs to everyone — and to no one.”

Edward Abbey (1927–1989) American author and essayist

“Come On In”, p. 88
The Journey Home (1977)

“Am I that imagine this angel less-satisfied?
Are the wings his, the lapis-haunted air?”

Wallace Stevens (1879–1955) American poet

Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction (1942), It Must Give Pleasure
Context: What am I to believe? If the angel in his cloud,
Serenely gazing at the violent abyss,
Plucks on his strings to pluck abysmal glory, Leaps downward through evening’s revelations, and
On his spredden wings, needs nothing but deep space,
Forgets the gold centre, the golden destiny,Grows warm in the motionless motion of his flight,
Am I that imagine this angel less-satisfied?
Are the wings his, the lapis-haunted air?