Whither in after life retired From brawling storms, From weary wind, With youthful fancy reinspired, We may hold converse with all forms Of the many-… - Alfred Tennyson

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more...

Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet! Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

There rolls the deep where grew the tree
O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars hath been.
The stillness of the central sea.