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There is no index so sure as the voice.
There is no index so sure as the voice.
Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with read more
Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.
And after the earthquake was a fire; but the Lord was not in the
fire: and after the fire read more
And after the earthquake was a fire; but the Lord was not in the
fire: and after the fire a still small voice.
. . . solitude is such a potential thing. We hear voices in solitude, we never hear in the hurry read more
. . . solitude is such a potential thing. We hear voices in solitude, we never hear in the hurry and turmoil of life; we receive counsels and comforts, we get under no other condition . . .
He ceased; but still their trembling ears retained
The deep vibrations of his witching song.
He ceased; but still their trembling ears retained
The deep vibrations of his witching song.
His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets.
His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets.
Her voice was like the voice the stars
Had when they sang together.
Her voice was like the voice the stars
Had when they sang together.
Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.
Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.
A man's style is his mind's voice. Wooden minds, wooden voices.
A man's style is his mind's voice. Wooden minds, wooden voices.
