It Were Better To Be

I Like To Have A Thing Suggested Rather Than Told In Full. When Every Detail Is Given, The Mind Rests Satisfied, And The Imagination Loses The Desire To Use Its Own Wings.

O Harp Of Life, So Speedily Unstrung!

What Is More Cheerful, Now, In The Fall Of The Year, Than An Open-wood-fire? Do You Hear Those Little Chirps And Twitters Coming Out Of That Piece Of Apple-wood? Those Are The Ghosts Of The Robins And Blue-birds That Sang Upon The Bough When It Was In Blossom Last Spring. In Summer Whole Flocks Of Them Come Fluttering About The Fruit-trees Under The Window: So I Have Singing Birds All The Year Round.

Great Orators Who Are Not Also Great Writers Become Very Indistinct Shadows To The Generations Following Them. The Spell Vanishes With The Voice.

But I, In The Chilling Twilight Stand And Wait At The Portcullis, At Thy Castle Gate, Longing To See The Charmed Door Of Dreams Turn On Its Noiseless Hinges, Delicate Sleep!