My garden all is overblown with roses,/ My spirit all is overblown with rhyme.
Nothing shows up the difference between the things said or read, so much as the daily experience of it.
Of course I should love to throw a toothbrush into a bag, and just go, quite vaguely, without any plans or even a real destination. It is the Wanderlust.
April, the angel of the months, the young love of the year.
For bees are captious folk / And quick to turn against the lubber's touch.
Serenity of spirit and turbulence of action should make up the sum of a man's life.