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Quote by Benjamin Disraeli

Work

The works of Benjamin Disraeli, earl of Beaconsfield: embracing novels, romances, plays, poems, biography, short stories and great speeches

This compilation encompasses a wide array of Benjamin Disraeli's writings, showcasing his versatility as a writer and orator. It includes his novels, which often blend political commentary with romantic narratives, his plays, which explore social and political themes, his poetry, and his biography. Additionally, the collection features his short stories and a selection of his most significant speeches, highlighting his political career and oratory skills. more

Author

Benjamin Disraeli
Benjamin Disraeli

Benjamin Disraeli was a prominent British politician who served as the Leader of the House of Commons. Born on December 21, 1804, in London, he passed away on April 19, 1881. Disraeli was known for his political acumen, oratory skills, and literary achievements. more

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“Yellow, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating; Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow; Smiling at the airy ease, Of the southward flying swallow Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden Autumn days.”

“What visionary tints the year puts on, When falling leaves falter through motionless air Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone! How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare, As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills The bowl between me and those distant hills, And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, tremulous hair!”

“The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.”

“I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;- Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.”

“Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods, And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt, And night by night the monitory blast Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes, Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt.”