MY river runs to thee: Blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply. Oh sea, look graciously! I ’ll fetch thee brooks From spotted nooks,— Say, sea, Take me!
To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
The appetite for silence is seldom an acquired taste.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.
Much Madness is Divinest Sense, to a Discerning Eye.
The Truth never flaunted a sign.