Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.
All things human change.
And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!
Let observation with extended observation observe extensively.
Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.