A single star is rising in the east, and from afar sheds a most tremulous lustre; silent Night doth wear it like a jewel on her brow.
Despair doth strike as deep a furrow in the brain as mischief or remorse.
The sea! The sea! The open sea!, The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!
Pity speaks to grief more sweetly than a band of instruments.
All round the room my silent servants wait, My friends in every season, bright and dim.