"Touch us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream, Gently, - as we sometimes glide Through a quie..." — Bryan Procter

So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!

Pity speaks to grief More sweetly than a band of instruments.

All round the room my silent servants wait, My friends in every season, bright and dim.

I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more.