Astronomers have built telescopes which can show myriads of stars unseen before; but when a man looks through a tear in his own eye, that is a lens which opens reaches in the unknown, and reveals orbs which no telescope, however skilfully constructed, could do ; nay, which brings to view even the throne of God, and pierces the nebulous distance where are those eternal verities in which true life consists.
She was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at tears, Wet, still more disagreeable and striking.
Crying for no reason, feel the tears roll down Now the pain is hitting me full force.
So often Egypt, Iraq and Syria and other areas in the ooze tears.
I may cry, ruining my makeup Big girls cry when their hearts are breaking
With that I heard a loud voice from the throne say: “Look! The tent of God is with mankind, and he will reside with them, and they will be his people. And God himself will be with them. And he will wipe out every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, neither will mourning nor outcry nor pain be anymore. The former things have passed away.”
My tears are buried in my heart, like cave-locked fountains sleeping.
Thrice he assay'd, and, thrice in spite of scorn,Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth.
The glorious Angel, who was keeping Blooms nowhere but in Paradise.
Sweet tears! the awful language, eloquentFor words.
But woe awaits a country, whenShe sees the tears of bearded men.
'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in.
The tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow.
The big round tearsIn piteous chase.
I had not so much of man in me,And gave me up to tears.
With sad unhelpful tears; and with dimm'd eyesLook after him, and cannot do him good.
I cannot weep; for all my body's moistureScarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart.
See, see what showers arise,Blown with the windy tempest of my heart.
What I should sayYe see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
I am about to weep; but, thinking thatI'll turn to sparks of fire.
I did not think to shed a tearOut of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
He has strangled
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
There she shookAnd clamour moisten'd.
When we are born we cry that we are comeTo this great stage of fools.
That instant shutRaining the tears of lamentation.
My plenteous joys,In drops of sorrow.
And he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.
Did he break into tears? A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces truer than those that are so washed.
If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
One, whose subdu'd eyes,Their medicinal gum.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,Sham'd their aspect with store of childish drops.
The liquid drops of tears that you have shedOf ten times double gain of happiness.
If the boy have not a woman's giftAn onion will do well for such a shift.
Then fresh tearsUpon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.
Eye-offending brine.
Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears: if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.
I so lively acted with my tearsWept bitterly.
I try to laugh about it Boys don't cry
The big round tears run down his dappled face;He groans in anguish.
Lorenzo! hast thou ever weigh'd a sigh?And trace these briny riv'lets to their springs.
Dear Lord, though I be changed to senseless clay,I thank Thee for the gracious gift of tears!
And friends, dear friends,—when it shall be He giveth His beloved sleep."
Thank God for grace, And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,Love half regrets to kiss it dry.
Oh! too convincing—dangerously dear—To save, subdue—at once her spear and shield.
What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain?Already polish'd by the hand divine!
There is a tear for all who die,A mourner o'er the humblest grave.
A stoic of the woods,—a man without a tear.
For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
We look through gloom and storm-drift Had the eyes no tears.
Words that weep and tears that speak.
And the tear that is wiped with a little address,May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
No radiant pearl, which crested Fortune wears,Down Virtue's manly cheek for others' woes.
What precious drops are those,Bright as young diamonds in their infant dew?
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,Makes not fresh nor grow again.
The tear forgot as soon as shed,The sunshine of the breast.
Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.
And weep the more, because I weep in vain.
Never a tear bedims the eyeThat time and patience will not dry.
Accept these grateful tears! for thee they flow,For thee, that ever felt another's woe!
My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread.
Oh! would I were dead now, And have a good cry!
If the man who turnips cries,Have a turnip than his father.
On parent knees, a naked new-born childCalm thou may'st smile, while all around thee weep.
E'en like the passage of an angel's tearThat falls through the clear ether silently.
All kin' o' smily round the lips An' teary roun' the lashes.
Tell me, ye wingèd winds Where mortals weep no more?
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, And blind my een wi' tears.
Peter deny'dHis Lord and cry'd.
If you go over desert and mountain, At length,—to the Fountain of Tears.
Behold who ever wept, and in his tearsWas happier far than others in their smiles.
Sweet drop of pure and pearly light; Than any gem that gilds the mine.
The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows,And waves the bush, the flower is dry.
The silver key of the fountain of tears.
Heaven is not gone, but we are blind with tears,Groping our way along the downward slope of Years!
There are bitter tears in human flesh.
That which matches my tears hurts my heart alike.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,Tears from the depths of some divine despair.
Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears,The gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.
Two aged men, that had been foes for life, Then wept again the loss of all those years.
The tears of the young who go their way, last a day;But the grief is long of the old who stay.
Tears are the silent language of grief.
When summoned hence to thine eternal sleep,Oh, may'st thou smile while all around thee weep.
Yet tears to human suffering are due;Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.