Then sleep the seasons, full of might; While slowly swells the pod, And rounds the peach, and in the night The mushroom bursts the sod. The winter comes: the frozen rut Is bound with silver bars; the white drift heaps against the hut; and night is pierced with stars.
Coventry PatmoreKind souls, you wonder why, love you, When you, you wonder why, love none We love, Fool, for the good we do, Not that which unto us is done!
Coventry PatmoreA saint is a person who does almost everything any other decent person does, only somewhat better and with a totally different motive.
Coventry Patmore