Maxioms by Alexander Smith
The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
If you wish to preserve your secret wrap it up in frankness.
If you wish to preserve your secret wrap it up in frankness.
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.
Sweet April's tears,
Dead on the hem of May.
Sweet April's tears,
Dead on the hem of May.
