"That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recaptur..." — Robert Browning

I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.

Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.

But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?

Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.