To Hope "When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my 'mind's eye' flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.
Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
Or thou might'st better listen to the wind, Whose language is to thee a barren noise, Though it blows legend-laden through the trees.