I had a dove and the sweet dove died; / And I have thought it died of grieving: / O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, / With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving; / Sweet little red feet! why should you die-- / Why should you leave me, sweet bird! why? / You liv'd alone in the forest-tree, / Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me? / I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas; / Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?
This fight of my life is so hard, so hard, so hard. / But I’m gonna survive. / Oh, oh, these are beautiful times.
- “Beautiful Times,” Owl City
Not so long ago… the sea was large… / And to-day the sea has lost nothing… it keps all.
- “The Sea Hold,” Carl Sandburg
Yes, moonlight Emperor! felicity / Has been thy meed for many thousand years; / Yet often have I, on the brink of tears, / Mourn’d as if yet thou wert a forester;— / Forgetting the old tale.
The sea is large / The sea must know more than any of us.
But it seems like the sea’s return / To the ancient lands where it left the shells
The Wind does — working like a Hand, / Whose fingers Comb the Sky — / Then quiver down — with tufts of Tune — / Permitted Gods, and me