In the glory which overhangs Palestine afar off, we imagine emotions which never come, when we tread the soil and walk over the hallowed sites. BAYARD TAYLOR AfarSoil
The clouds are scudding across the moon, A misty light is on the sea; The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, And the foam is flying free. BAYARD TAYLOR Clouds
Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few, And soon the grassy coverlet of God Spreads equal green above their ashes pale. BAYARD TAYLOR Ashes
Sometimes an hour of Fate’s serenest weather Strikes through our changeful sky its coming beams; Somewhere above us, in elusive ether, Waits the fulfilment of our dearest dreams. BAYARD TAYLOR
From the desert I come to thee, On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire. BAYARD TAYLOR
