When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, he sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
Who loves, raves.
What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life’s page, and be alone on earth, as I am now.
What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a rapture on the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt in solitude, where we are least alone.
The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted, – they have torn me, – and I bleed: I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
The heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
Smiles form the channel of a future tear.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean – roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; man marks the earth with ruin – his control stops with the shore.
Life’s enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
