Alexander Smith

We twain have met like the ships upon the sea,
Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet:
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We twain have met like the ships upon the sea,
Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet:
One little hour! and then, away they speed
On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam,
To meet no more.

We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not read more

We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.

Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal likings.

Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal likings.

To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.

To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.

If you wish to preserve your secret wrap it up in frankness.

If you wish to preserve your secret wrap it up in frankness.