Often have we heard aspirations of the following kind, but never sweeter than this:
“Ye Clouds that on your endless journey go,
Ye Winds that westward flow,
Thou heaving Sea
That heav’st ’twixt her and me,
Tell her I come....”
The poet yokes all Nature to the wings of his fancy, and makes it the loving slave of his Love.
How simple, yet how subtly told, is this great truth:
“Who does not know
That good and ill