How silent are the winds!
So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!
Shadows fall on even the brightest hours.
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.
Death is the tyrant of the imagination.
The sweetest noise on earth, a woman's tongue; A string which hath no discord.