#gales

Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn: It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond Stares. And you sing, you sing. That star-enchanted song falls through the air From lawn to lawn down terraces of sound, Darts in white arrows on the shadowed ground; And all the night you sing. My dreams are flowers to which you are a bee As all night long I listen, and my brain Receives your song, then loses it again In moonlight on the lawn. Now is your voice a marble high and white, Then like a mist on fields of paradise, Now is a raging fire, then is like ice, Then breaks, and it is dawn. ↗

— Harold Monro

#nightingales #song #dreams

Passions are the gales of life. ↗

— Alexander Pope

#life #passions

I know my own soul, how feeble and puny it is: I know the magnitude of this ministry, and the great difficulty of the work; for more stormy billows vex the soul of the priest than the gales which disturb the sea. ↗

— John Chrysostom

#difficulty #disturb #feeble #gales #great

One ship drives east and other drives west by the same winds that blow. It's the set of the sails and not the gales that determines the way they go. ↗

— Ella Wheeler Wilcox

#determines #drives #east #gales #go