A poore soule sat sighing under a sycamore tree Oh willow, willow, willow With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee, Oh willow, willow, willow.
A poore soule sat sighing under a sycamore tree Oh willow, willow, willow With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee, Oh willow, willow, willow.
Crouchers move through a garden at a stoop naming, gasping, horraying, admiring or coveting plants Gapers saunter, smiling or sighing at what they find, succumbing to an intangible beatitude that takes them for a brief escape into another dimension. Both sorts of gardener are besotted both get their hands dirty think and talk gardening but on the threshold of another's garden, each use a different set of whiskers.
Let me be content with being happy, without sighing that I am not distinguished.
A person who is wise does nothing against his will, nothing with sighing or under coercion.
From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.
A plague of sighing and grief!
A plague of sighing and grief It blows a man up like a bladder.
Look, how the world's poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
So she at these sad signs draws up her breath
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death.
By the time you swear you're his, Shivering and sighing, And he vows his passion is Infinite, undying Lady make note of this One of you is lying.
I have been here before. But when or how I cannot tell; I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
The sweetest lives are those to duty wed, Whose deeds, both great and small Are close-knot strands of an unbroken thread There love ennobles all. The world may sound no trumpets, ring no bells The book of life the shining record tells. Thy love shall chant its own beatitudes After its own life-workings. A childs kiss Set on thy sighing lips shall make thee glad A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong Thou shalt serve thyself by every sense, Of service which thou renderest.
Earlier lives drift by on silver soles, and the shadows of the damned descend into these sighing waters.
Be a friend. You dont need money Just a disposition sunny Just the wish to help another Get along some way or other Just a kindly had extended Out to one whos unbefriended Just the will to give or lend, This will make you someones friend. Be a friend. You dont need glory. Friendship is a simple story. Pass by trifling errors blindly, Gaze on honest effort kindly, Cheer the youth whos bravely trying, Pity him whos sadly sighing Just a little labor spend On the duties of a friend. Be a friend. The pay is bigger (Though not written by a figure) Tan is earned by people clever In whats merely self-endeavor. Youll have friends instead of neighbors For the profits of your labors Youll be richer in the end Than a prince, if youre a friend.
There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.
There's music in the sighing of a reed There's music in the gushing of a rill There's music in all things, if men had ears Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.
Earth felt the wound, and nature from her seat Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe, That all was lost.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories