How silent are the winds!

Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.

Pity speaks to grief more sweetly than a band of instruments.

Love can take what shape he pleases; and when once begun his fiery inroad in the soul, how vain the after knowledge which his presence gives! We weep or rave; but still he lives, and lives master and lord, amidst pride and tears and pain.

So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!

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.

How silent are the winds!