Somewhere Beyond The Sea Quotes

I’m an adult who does adult things, like taxes and laundry and being sad for no reason.

If you go into a situation expecting the worst, it may cloud your ability to see what good can come from it.

But I believe the greatest weapon we have at our disposal is our voices. And I am going to use my voice for you, and for me. Hate is loud. We are louder.

It’s hard.” “What is?” “Being alive.” “It is,” Arthur agreed. “But perhaps that’s the point: the trials and tribulations of life weigh heavily upon us, but we find people to help lighten the load.

Confidence is silent. Insecurities are loud.

There is magic in the ordinary, magic that has the power to change the world.

Even the smallest of things can change the world, if only one is brave enough to try.

Linus told me something once, and I think about it a lot. He said it’s okay to not be okay, so long as it doesn’t become all we know.

Let them listen to what joy sounds like. Maybe they’ll learn a thing or two.

What is this evil place, you might be asking? Great question!” He spread his hands wide in a practiced display of showmanship. “It’s called … Florida.

See me. See me for who I am. I am magic. I am human. I am inhuman. See me. I am a boy. I am a girl. I am everything and nothing in between. See me. You do. You see me. You recoil in fear. You scream in anger. See me. I bleed. I ache. You see me, and you wish you hadn’t. You wish I was invisible. Out of sight, out of mind. Unseen, faded, muted. You want my color. You want my joy. You want a monochrome world with monochrome beliefs. You see me, and you want to take it all away. But you can’t. You want me lost, but I am found in the breaths I take, in the spaces between heartbeats. I am found because I refuse to be in black and white, or any shade of gray. I am color. I am fire. I am the sun, and I will burn away the shadows until only light remains. And then you will have no choice but to see

She has seen maps of course, but ink and paper hold nothing to this. To the salt smell, the murmur of waves, the hypnotic draw of the tide. To the scope and scale of the sea, and the knowledge that somewhere, beyond the horizon, there is more.

He’s not going to fight Jesus,” Talia said. “Last night, Lucy stubbed his toe and cried until Zoe kissed it, so all Jesus has to do is wait for that, and the fight is over.

Lucy tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s hard.” “What is?” “Being alive.” “It is,” Arthur agreed. “But perhaps that’s the point: the trials and tribulations of life weigh heavily upon us, but we find people to help lighten the load.

You are sunlight chasing away the clouds on a rainy day. You are the brightest flower in a garden where color fights to exist.

Somewhere beyond the battening, urged sweep of three-bedroom houses rushing by their thousands across all the dark beige hills, somehow implicit in an arrogance or bite to the smog the more inland somnolence of San Narciso did lack, lurked the sea, the unimaginable Pacific, the one to which all surfers, beach pads, sewage disposal schemes, tourist incursions, sunned homosexuality, chartered fishing are irrelevant, the hole left by the moon’s tearing-free and monument to her exile; you could not hear or even smell this but it was there, something tidal began to reach feelers in past eyes and eardrums, perhaps to arouse fractions of brain current your most gossamer microelectrode is yet too gross for finding.

When I lived in the city, I dreamed in color, of places where the sea stretched on for miles and miles. [...] But what I didn’t expect was that the color didn’t come from the ocean, or the trees, or even the island itself. It came from all of you.

They surround themselves with like-minded people, and it creates an echo chamber that’s nigh on impossible to escape. A feedback loop that never ends.

We have to trust them. And then we have to do the scariest thing of all: step back and hope for the best.

This was hope; the children, love letters to a future that had yet to be decided. Yes,..hope was this thing with feathers, but is was also in the hearts and minds of those who believed all was not lost, no matter the odds.

But perhaps that’s the point: the trials and tribulations of life weigh heavily upon us, but we find people to help lighten the load.

A great man once said stories of imagination upset those without one.

When we live in fear, it controls us. Every decision we make is smothered by it. I refuse to live like that any longer.

So what do we do?” “We live,” Arthur said. “And if they try and take our children from us?” “Then we fight.

He said it’s okay to not be okay, so long as it doesn’t become all we know.

They’re certainly not kidnapping me,” David told the conductor. “Because I’m an adult who does adult things, like taxes and laundry and being sad for no reason.” Unfazed, the conductor said, “How wonderful! I, too, am filled with an encroaching dread over my own mortality.

All I can do is tell you that things will be different this time around. I will give the children what I never had: a place to be whoever they want to be, no matter what they can do or where they come from.

See me. See me for who I am. I am magic. I am human. I am inhuman. See me. I am a boy. I am a girl. I am everything and nothing in between. See me. You do. You see me. You recoil in fear. You scream in anger. See me. I bleed. I ache. You see me, and you wish you hadn’t. You wish I was invisible. Out of sight, out of mind. Unseen, faded, muted. You want my color. You want my joy. You want a monochrome world with monochrome beliefs. You see me, and you want to take it all away. But you can’t. You want me lost, but I am found in the breaths I take, in the spaces between heartbeats. I am found because I refuse to be in black and white, or any shade of gray. I am color. I am fire. I am the sun, and I will burn away the shadows until only light remains. And then you will have no choice but to see me.

Magic, comes from within. It's not just about our gifts. It's about intent. What we want from it, what we plan to do with it in the future.

He cackled evilly, but seeing as how he was only seven, “evil” was, perhaps, a bit of a misnomer. It was more of a squeaky giggle, followed by the stomping of feet.

if there's one thing I've learned above all else from you, it's this: there is magic in the ordinary, magic that has the power to change the world

How could he tell one child he could be a thing, but tell another that he couldn’t do the same? Granted, David’s idea of being a monster wasn’t the same as Lucy’s, but was it fair to hold one person to a standard and another to something else entirely?

Somewhere or other there must surely be The face not seen, the voice not heard, The heart that not yet - never yet — ah me! Made answer to my word. Somewhere or other, may be near or far; Past land and sea, clean out of sight; Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star That tracks her night by night. Somewhere or other, may be far or near; With just a wall, a hedge, between; With just the last leaves of the dying year Fallen on a turf grown green.

You want me lost, but I am found in the breaths I take, in the spaces between heartbeats. I am found because I refuse to be in black and white, or any shade of gray. I am color. I am fire. I am the sun, and I will burn away the shadows until only light remains. And then you will have no choice but to see me.

Lucy nodded. “And I’ll open up a dimensional doorway in the fabric of reality and send her to a place where even demons fear to tread. What is this evil place, you might be asking? Great question!” He spread his hands wide in a practiced display of showmanship. “It’s called … Florida.

You are more than the sum of your parts, but your past is still that: yours.

People who could do things that defied imagination and those who believed there was magic in the ordinary.

Mind your manners, but always, always ask questions if you have them. Good people don’t mind questions.

On three,” Sal said. “One. Two. Three!” “We’re not going to die!” the children all shouted, raising their hands into the sky.

We’ve figured it out,” Sal said as the other children nodded around him. “A way to get us all back that won’t be boring.

I believe the greatest weapon we have at our disposal is our voices. And I am going to use my voice for you, and for me. Hate is loud. We are louder.

I had a girlfriend. He came out as trans, and now he’s my boyfriend.” If it is that easy for a child, why is it so hard for adults?

Frank says that people who eat seafood are going to Hell.” “Great,” Linus said. “Now that I know fish are aware of the concept of Hell, I’m questioning everything.

Once again, the mind of a child knocked Arthur flat. How could anyone think they were capable of harm?

I wasn’t going to eat her,” David said. “I was just trying to… make her go… near my… mouth.” “I knew he’d be a perfect fit,” Helen whispered to Zoe.

Everything has to start somewhere. And as long as we nurture them, they can grow beyond anything we thought possible.

They’re not very subtle, are they?” “And so focused on a new guest that we don’t even merit a hug? Your children need to learn their manners.” “Oh, they’re my children when you don’t get a hug, but as soon one of them threatens disembowelment, you’re pleased as punch.

Linus crawled over the side of the rowboat, lying on his back in the sand, pulling piles of sand over to him and hugging them. “Oh, ground. My sweet, sweet ground. I’ll never take you for granted again.

History is full of different people making the same mistakes over and over again, never learning from the actions of those who came before them. Time can sometimes prove to be a vicious circle in that regard. People in power attempting to tell others how they should live their lives, but only in the bounds of what they consider acceptable. Gatekeepers who believe it is up to them to decide what is morally correct or not.

Lucy eyed him slyly. “What if I don’t become who you want me to be?” Arthur expected this. Pushing up against perceived boundaries, testing how far they could stretch. All the children did this at one point or another. It went back to what Arthur had said during the hearing, about children being told no and immediately asking why. “I would love you just the same.

Egypt is a fertile valley of rich river soil, low-lying, warm, monotonous, a slow-flowing river, and beyond the limitless desert. Greece is a country of sparse fertility and keen, cold winters, all hills and mountains sharp cut in stone, where strong men must work hard to get their bread. And while Egypt submitted and suffered and turned her face toward death, Greece resisted and rejoiced and turned full-face to life. For somewhere among those steep stone mountains, in little sheltered valleys where the great hills were ramparts to defend, and men could have security for peace and happy living, something quite new came into the world: the joy of life found expression. Perhaps it was born there, among the shepherds pasturing their flocks where the wild flowers made a glory on the hillside; among the sailors on a sapphire sea washing enchanted islands purple in a luminous air.

There, now that that’s out of the way, on to something just as important. Presents.” “Talia,” Arthur said. “Would you like to try that again?” She sighed. “Hi.” “Hello.” “How are you?” “Better now.” “Me too,” she said. “Now, about those presents.

Lucy yelled in unfettered joy, “You can breathe fire? Holy crap, Theodore! Let’s burn everything!” “And that’s our cue,” Arthur said. “This is what happens when you sleep late,” Linus muttered. “Just when you think you’re getting extra rest, someone breathes fire.

I’m sure this is a problem faced by most parents since time immemorial. To know when the time if right to let the little birds leave the nest and fly on their own.” “Most parents don’t have the children we do,” Linus said. “No, they don’t. We’re lucky that way, I guess.

Rebirth. Perseverance. Color. Life. Everything important in the smallest packages.

The best we can do is to be there to help them celebrate their victories and to pick them back up when they get knocked down.

So many people want to eat my food,” Lucy said in awe. “This must be what it feels like to be God.

It wouldn’t matter if you were one or one hundred,” Arthur said. “You would still be mine as much as I am yours. Nothing will ever change that.

Arthur would follow him anywhere and told him as much. Linus rolled his eyes (though he couldn’t hide his smile) and said, “Besotted fool. Come on.

Arthur found it odd that no lights seemed to be on in the darkened houses. Even if people were at work, wouldn’t they want to come home to brightness rather than shadows?

Yes.” “Yes?” Arthur said, “Yes. Yes to you. Yes to us. Yes to all of it.

The boy. The boy with the fire had come home. “Yes,” he whispered back. “I have returned.

It was all of our idea, so if we’re going to get grounded, you have to ground all of us.” “Sounds serious,” Arthur said gravely. “And more than a little worrying,” Linus said.

We’re in this together.” “Yeah,” Chauncey said. “Let’s all get grounded. Who’s with me? Why is no one raising their tentacles?

The fact remains that they are some of the most powerful beings in existence. Children capable of--” “Being children?” Arthur asked. “Yes, they are.

We do have questions,” Sal said, voice crackling through the line. “But they can wait, except for one.” “And what’s that?” Arthur asked. “Are you all right?

Is that ring for me? I’d quite like to try it on, if you don’t mind.” He extended his hand, wiggling his fingers.

Though he managed to drop the box while fumbling it, Linus managed to pull the ring from the box without loss of limb or life.

Can you promise he’s not going to split the planet open like an egg?” “Oh,” Arthur said. “I highly doubt it. You see, he’s still learning how to crack chicken eggs properly, so I expect it’ll be quite some time before he’s ready for planetary destruction.” Every dace stared up at him in shock. “Remember what I told you about your sense of humor?” Linus hissed at him. “Now is not the time to try and be funny!” “Try,” Arthur huffed. “Ouch.” He raised his voice once more. “That was a poor attempt at humor. My apologies. To answer your question, Earth will not be destroyed today.” “Or anytime in the future,” Linus added loudly.

I worry all the time about the children. I worry about them when they sleep. When they wake up. When they run, when they eat, when they laugh or cry or sneeze. When they ask questions or when they answer questions. What does that make me?” Linus snorted. “That makes you a father.

I believed- and still do- that places, just like people, can hold power over you if you let them. Unearned power that gives them the right to decide how others should be treated simply because of who they are.

Sea Longing" A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand, The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land With the old murmur, long and musical; The windy waves mount up and curve and fall, And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,-- Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know, For I was born the sea's eternal thrall. I would that I were there and over me The cold insistence of the tide would roll, Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,-- Then with the ebbing I should drift and be Less than the smallest shell along the shoal, Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.

I’m nervous,” Arthur said quietly. Linus smiled as if he were expecting the confession. “You’re doing the right thing.” He leaned against Arthur, a warm, comforting weight. “Be nervous, Arthur. Be frightened. I am too.

No. I wouldn’t. Even with all I’ve been through, with all I’ve seen, I wouldn’t want to be anything other than what I am. If I had to do it all over again just to arrive at this very moment, I would. Over and over again.

Hold on a second. Did you… did you just trick me into wanting to go to school?” “I did,” Arthur said. “And funnily enough, I don’t feel badly about it in the slightest.” “I’m on to you,” David said, pointing a blunt finger at him. “I see right through you.” “Delightful,” Arthur said. “Given that transparency is paramount, I prefer not to be opaque.

When he glanced at the alarm clock sitting next to the bed, Arthur realized it wasn’t the sun bringing the end times: no, it was something far, far worse. It was eight thirty-two in the morning on a Saturday, and the house was silent.

It’s about intent. What we want from it, what we plan to do with it in the future. My grandmother always said that the earth, the sea, all of it listens to everything we do. It knows those who mean it harm, those who would use it to cause pain and suffering. If we do this, we will be its protectors.” She smiled at the children. “You will be its queens

I can be a little fussy--” “Is that what we’re calling it now?” Linus scowled. “Hush, you. I’ll have you know that some people appreciate--” “Me,” Arthur said. “I’m one of those people. In fact, I might appreciate you more than they do.

Arthur reached a shaking hand toward the ring. “After all you’ve heard today? Still, even now?” “Even now,” Linus said firmly. “And tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. All the days we have left. You, Arthur. I choose you.

It’s quite the conundrum. These days, socks aren’t like what we wore at your age. Many of them have little designs, but our trousers are far too long to show them off.” “And removing your shoes without invitation is quite rude,” Linus added. “Indeed,” Arthur said. “Can you imagine?” “I shudder to think. Even if there is a decorative sock, one must remember decorum.

Phee glared at them. “If anyone tries to take bacon from me, I’m going to turn them into a tree. And not a good tree. A bad one, like a Bradford pear tree.” They stared at her. She threw up her hands. “Have I taught you nothing? The Bradford pear tree has thorns and the flowers smell like tuna. No one has ever said, oh gee, let me get a good, long sniff of fish flowers.

Oh my freaking God, what are those heathens eating?” Linus said, “Snow cones. Ice with flavored syrup as a topping.” David turned toward him with wide eyes. “They ruined ice? The most perfect thing in all the world?” He bared his teeth. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all. Ha, ha, just kidding.” Then, under his breath, “Mostly.” “No snow cones, then,” Arthur said. “Noted.

Her face suddenly changed, going from a flat mask to big eyes and pouty lips. When she spoke again, her voice was in a higher register. “And that’s all we are. Pretty girls without a thought in our heads.” The facade melted, replaced by steel. “That’s the funny thing about those in power. They underestimate everyone beneath them, even knowing their secrets are heard by someone.

This was the hope: the children, love letters to a future that had yet to be decided. Yes, Arthur thought as Sal grinned shyly, hope was the thing with feathers, but it was also in the hearts and minds of those who believed all was not lost, no matter the odds.

Then, “If what you’re saying is true, how has DICOMY not discovered you? Or Doreen?” Larmina laughed bitterly. “Because we understand how the minds of men work. Give them a little smile, touch their arm, hang on their every word, and they believe they’re God’s gift to women.

Trust, Arthur knew, was a treasure effortlessly stolen, often without rhyme or reason. And this particular treasure was a fragile thing, a piece of thin glass easily broken. But here was David, surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar place, attempting to pick up his pieces and put them back into a recognizable shape. Whatever else he was, David’s bravery in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds proved yet again what Arthur had always believed: magic existed in many forms, some extraordinary, some simple acts of goodwill and trust, small though they might be.

And I worry! I worry all the time about the children. I worry about them when they sleep. When they wake up. When they run, when they eat, when they laugh or cry or sneeze. When they ask questions or when they answer questions. What does that make me?” Linus snorted. “That makes you a father.” Arthur blinked, lifting his head to look at Linus. “What?” “It makes you their father,” Linus said again. “And they are so very lucky to have you.

Oh my, that was such a restful sleep. Wouldn’t you agree, dear Linus?” “Quite!” Linus practically shouted. “I’m not even remotely concerned about the state of the kitchen and instead am focused on how rested I feel!” They both had to stifle laughter when Chauncey began to yell, “Battle stations! Battle stations! The chickens are coming home to roost!” Another din from the kitchen, this time followed by Lucy shouting, “But we’re not ready yet! Choke the chickens!

David opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. He stared up at the sight before him and said, “You named a door after me?” “That’s exactly right,” Sal said with a solemn nod. “Surprise. You’re welcome.” “Oh. Thank… you? I’ve never had anyone name a door after me before.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes which were once again wary. “Why don’t you open the door?” Arthur suggested. “I have a feeling there’s a little more behind it that might help allay any confusion.

I felt in that moment as if it were all a dream—the training, my former life, the world I had left behind. None of that mattered anymore. Only this place mattered, only this moment, and not because the psychologist had hypnotized me. In the grip of that powerful emotion, I stared out toward the coast, through the jagged narrow spaces between the trees. There, a greater darkness gathered, the confluence of the night, the clouds, and the sea. Somewhere beyond, another border.

assuage Arthur’s guilt. How could he tell one child he could be a thing, but tell another that he couldn’t do the same? Granted, David’s idea of being a monster wasn’t the same as Lucy’s, but was it fair to hold one person to a standard and another to something else entirely? “Guys!” Sal called. “I think we have a problem.

Mr. Parnassus,” Haversford said, not unkindly, “you have every right to feel as you do. I won’t tell you I can understand what you went through, because that would be a falsehood built upon privilege.” He nodded. “Thank you for recognizing that.” “That being said, we’ll never get anywhere if we can’t even move beyond the introduction.

But I do know that when you and I approach God for help, filled with our cares and distresses, our prayers are not confined to this calendar date, to this particular month and year. What may seem to be His silence and avoidance from where you sit today is already reverberating in future places. If not right here, if not right now, you can be sure His ability is taking visible, tangible shape somewhere, even if beyond the scope of your current sightline. You and I are living right this minute on a tiny dot of time within a vast sea of God-moments. And the ripple effect of today’s prayer, today’s faith—today’s now—spirals out in all directions for all eternity, bumping something here, affecting something there, all under God’s watchful eye and wisdom. Each time we turn to Him, each time we trust, each time we bring our all to the surpassing greatness of His all, we find ourselves instantly connected to every future time zone where His ability lives. We link up across generations where He is already working, present-tense, to make His glory known.

Arthur, too, wore a suit. His coat and trousers were navy blue, his dress shirt covered in blooms that reminded him of Talia’s garden. The top plastic button at his throat had been replaced by a brass one, sewn on with care. His tie was a wonderful shade of green, not unlike a certain bellhop. His shortened trousers revealed gray socks with little fluffy Pomeranians on them. Pinned to his shirt, a small gold leaf plucked from a tree on the island grown by a forest sprite. On his jacket, a pocket square, black with little red devil horns on it.

He saw something he’d missed upon his arrival: a tiny yellow flower growing through the warped wood of the first porch step. Barely the size of his thumbnail, the flower had persisted, pushing through the wood until it reached sunlight [...] He smiled, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something right itself in his chest. “Well,” he said, “if you can do it, I suppose I can too.

Does he always talk like that?” David whisper-shouted to Arthur. “Yes,” Arthur said as Linus jabbed him with an elbow. “I happen to admire it when he does, but then I’m very partial when it comes to Linus Baker, including his pearls of wisdom.” “I’m like an oyster,” Linus said proudly. “Might not look like much, but open me up and there’s hidden treasure within.” He frowned. “Is it me, or did that not sound as complimentary as I thought it would?” “I would care for you even if you were an oyster,” Arthur promised him.

I’ve never left them before,” Arthur whispered. “I didn’t expect it to be so hard.” “Leaving is never easy,” Linus said, laying his forehead against Arthur’s back. “But knowing they’ll be waiting for us to come back will make it that much sweeter when we do.” Arthur turned and gathered Linus up in his arms. “It’s as if I’ve left my heart behind.” He felt Linus smile against his throat. “I’ve never seen you so out of sorts before. You delightful man, they will be well because you taught them how to be. Come, now. Calm, even breaths. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can return home.

What about this, then?” The metal surface rippled at his touch, stretching and splitting into a million thin wires that made it look like a giant version of one of those pin art toys Sophie used to play with as a kid. He tapped his fingers in a quick rhythm, and the pins shifted and sank, forming highs and lows and smooth, flat stretches. Sophie couldn’t figure out what she was seeing until he tapped a few additional beats and tiny pricks of light flared at the ends of each wire, bathing the scene in vibrant colors and marking everything with glowing labels. “It’s a map,” she murmured, making a slow circle around the table. And not just any map. A 3-D map of the Lost Cities. She’d never seen her world like that before, with everything spread out across the planet in relation to everything else. Eternalia, the elvin capital that had likely inspired the human myths of Shangri-la, was much closer to the Sanctuary than she’d realized, nestled into one of the valleys of the Himalayas—while the special animal preserve was hidden inside the hollowed-out mountains. Atlantis was deep under the Mediterranean Sea, just like the human legends described, and it looked like Mysterium was somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle. The Gateway to Exile was in the middle of the Sahara desert—though the prison itself was buried in the center of the earth. And Lumenaria… “Wait. Is Lumenaria one of the Channel Islands?” she asked, trying to compare what she was seeing against the maps she’d memorized in her human geography classes. “Yes and no. It’s technically part of the same archipelago. But we’ve kept that particular island hidden, so humans have no idea it exists—well, beyond the convoluted stories we’ve occasionally leaked to cause confusion.

Arthur reached a shaking hand toward the ring. “After all you’ve heard today? Still, even now?” “Even now,” Linus said firmly. “And tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. All the days we have left. You, Arthur. I choose you.” He looked away. “If you’ll have me, that is. I know I’m not much, but I do try my best. I come with a ridiculous cat, and I can be a little fussy--” “Is that what we’re calling it now?” Linus scowled. “Hush, you. I’ll have you know that some people appreciate--” “Me,” Arthur said. “I’m one of those people. In fact, I might appreciate you more than they do. Is that ring for me? I’d quite like to try it on, if you don’t mind.” He extended his hand, wiggling his fingers.

The Garden of Proserpine" Here, where the world is quiet; Here, where all trouble seems Dead winds' and spent waves' riot In doubtful dreams of dreams; I watch the green field growing For reaping folk and sowing, For harvest-time and mowing, A sleepy world of streams. I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep; Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep. Here life has death for neighbour, And far from eye or ear Wan waves and wet winds labour, Weak ships and spirits steer; They drive adrift, and whither They wot not who make thither; But no such winds blow hither, And no such things grow here. No growth of moor or coppice, No heather-flower or vine, But bloomless buds of poppies, Green grapes of Proserpine, Pale beds of blowing rushes Where no leaf blooms or blushes Save this whereout she crushes For dead men deadly wine. Pale, without name or number, In fruitless fields of corn, They bow themselves and slumber All night till light is born; And like a soul belated, In hell and heaven unmated, By cloud and mist abated Comes out of darkness morn. Though one were strong as seven, He too with death shall dwell, Nor wake with wings in heaven, Nor weep for pains in hell; Though one were fair as roses, His beauty clouds and closes; And well though love reposes, In the end it is not well. Pale, beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands; Her languid lips are sweeter Than love's who fears to greet her To men that mix and meet her From many times and lands. She waits for each and other, She waits for all men born; Forgets the earth her mother, The life of fruits and corn; And spring and seed and swallow Take wing for her and follow Where summer song rings hollow And flowers are put to scorn. There go the loves that wither, The old loves with wearier wings; And all dead years draw thither, And all disastrous things; Dead dreams of days forsaken, Blind buds that snows have shaken, Wild leaves that winds have taken, Red strays of ruined springs. We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; To-day will die to-morrow; Time stoops to no man's lure; And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful Sighs, and with eyes forgetful Weeps that no loves endure. From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea. Then star nor sun shall waken, Nor any change of light: Nor sound of waters shaken, Nor any sound or sight: Nor wintry leaves nor vernal, Nor days nor things diurnal; Only the sleep eternal In an eternal night.