The heart, like the mind, has a memory. And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes.

White swan of cities slumbering in thy nest . . . White phantom city, whose untrodden streets Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting Shadows of the palaces and strips of sky.

There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye.

The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.

However things may seem, no evil thing is success and no good thing is failure.

The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.

And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.