Once more their weird laughter of the loons comes to my ear, the distance lends it a musical, melancholy sound. For a dangerous ledge off the lighthouse island floats in on the still air the gentle trolling of a warning bell as it swings on the rocking buoy; it might be tolling for the passing of summer and sweet weather with that persistent, pensive chime.
Celia ThaxterThis very act of planting a seed in the earth has in it to me something beautiful. I always do it with a joy that is largely mixed with awe.
Celia ThaxterLook to the East, where up the lucid sky; the morning climbs! The day shall yet be fair.
Celia Thaxter