ᚩ ᛭ ᛉ ᛭ ᛟ

Nothing, after all, was jeopardized. So much time still stretched before him. All the good in life seemed to await him.

"…is there aught else that you desire of me at our parting? For darkness will flow between us, and it may be that we shall not meet again, unless it be far hence upon a road that has no returning."

“Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.”

And he retraced his wanderings in those deep old lanes that began from the common road and went away towards the unknown, climbing steep hills, and piercing the woods of shadows, and dipping down into valleys that seemed virgin, unexplored, secret for the foot of man. He entered such a lane not knowing where it might bring him, hoping he had found the way to fairyland, to the woods beyond the world, to that vague territory that haunts all the dreams of a boy.

The wind sang softly with angel voices

The pond is the color of the moon and of milk. With the shadow of the three trees, it keeps several tufts of reeds: and two stars shine there until the moment when the ladies-of-the-well snuff them out, by diving into the water.

In her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy.

“Love dies all the time, or at any rate it becomes distracted, overlaid — it might as well be dead.”