Pity speaks to grief more sweetly than a band of instruments.
The sea! The sea! The open sea!, The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!
I said that I loved the wise proverb, Brief, simple and deep; For it I'd exchange the great poem That sends us to sleep.
Despair doth strike as deep a furrow in the brain as mischief or remorse.
All round the room my silent servants wait, My friends in every season, bright and dim.