Maxioms by Alexander Smith
Sweet April's tears,
Dead on the hem of May.
Sweet April's tears,
Dead on the hem of May.
Books are a finer world within the world.
Books are a finer world within the world.
A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.
A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.
The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
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.
