Quotes About Serenity

This music crept by me upon the waters,Allaying both their fury, and my passion,With its sweet air.

The green mantle of the standing pool.

His cares are now all ended.

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,Where oxlips and the nodding violet growsQuite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine:There sleeps Titania some time of the night,Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.

He hath a daily beauty in his life.

The isle is full of noises,Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.Sometimes a thousand twangling instrumentsWill hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep,Will make me sleep again.

Not a mouse stirring.

The innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care...

O polish'd perturbation! golden care!That keep'st the ports of slumber open wideTo many a watchful night!

Our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.

Sit tibi terra levis. "May the earth lie light upon

On a sandbar sunlight stretches out its limbs, or is it a sycamore, so brazen, so clean and bold?

Evening came, a paw, to the gray hut by the river.

Most mornings I get away, slip out the door before light, set forth on the dim, gray road, letting my feet find a cadence that softly carries me on. Nobody is up—all alone my journey begins. Some

Above, air sighs the pines. It was this way when Rome was clanging, when Troy was being built, when campfires lighted caves. The white butterflies dance by the thousands in the still sunshine. Suddenly, anything could happen to you. Your soul pulls toward the canyon.

Abel also kept busy taking it easy. Only when taking it easy, he'd learned, could one properly do one's wondering.

The scenes on this field would have cured anybody of war.

The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.

Strongest mindsAre often those of whom the noisy worldHears least.

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie Sleepless!

While with an eye made quiet by the powerOf harmony, and the deep power of joy,We see into the life of things.

But hushed be every thought that springsFrom out the bitterness of things.