one of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind's imagining into another
I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!
Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!
All writing is a form of prayer.
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.