Announced by all the trumpets of the skyArrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,Seems nowhere to alight: the whited airHides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
He could not be captured,He could not be bought,His running was rhythm,His standing was thought;With one eye on sorrowAnd one eye on mirth,He galloped in heavenAnd gambolled on earth.And only the poetWith wings to his brainCan mount him and ride himWithout any rein,The stallion of heaven,The steed of the skies,The horse of the singerWho sings as he flies.Eleanor Farjeon
You're sent from heavenAnd I know your worth.You made a heaven for me here on the earth.When I'm old and grey, dear,Promise you won't stray, dear,For I love you so, Sonny Boy.buddy de sylva
'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours;And ask them what report they bore to heaven:And how they might have borne more welcome news.Edward Young
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