Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.

My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.

But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.

Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!

I've watched you now a full half-hour; Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

Death is the quiet haven of us all.