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The swift years slip and slide adown the steep The slow years pass neither will come again.

William Sharp

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William Sharp
Pass
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Neither
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Come
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Swift
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A handful of pine-seed will cover mountains with the green majesty of forests. I too will set my face to the wind and throw my handful of seed on high.
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Go to the winter woods: listen there, look, watch, and the dead months will give you a subtler secret than any you have yet found in the forest.
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My heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.
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The desire of love, Joy:The desire of life, Peace:The desire of the soul, Heaven:The desire of God ... a flame-white secret forever.
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In the beginning, said a Persian poet Allah took a rose, a lily, a dove, a serpent, a little honey, a Dead Sea apple, and a handful of clay. When he looked at the amalgram it was a woman.
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The gray silence, the gray waves, the gray wastes of the sea.
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