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.

. . . 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 . . .

I thank you for your voices, thank you!
Your most sweet voices! Now you have left your voices,
read more

I thank you for your voices, thank you!
Your most sweet voices! Now you have left your voices,
I have no further with you.

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.

The human voice is the organ of the soul.

The human voice is the organ of the soul.

The voice so sweet, the words so fair,
As some soft chime had stroked the air;
And read more

The voice so sweet, the words so fair,
As some soft chime had stroked the air;
And though the sound had parted thence,
Still left an echo in the sense.

The voice is nothing but beaten air.
[Lat., Vox nihil aliud quam ictus aer.]

The voice is nothing but beaten air.
[Lat., Vox nihil aliud quam ictus aer.]

The voice of conscience is so delicate that it is easy to stifle it; but it is also so clear read more

The voice of conscience is so delicate that it is easy to stifle it; but it is also so clear that it is impossible to mistake it.

I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of
their wits, they would have no more read more

I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of
their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us;
but I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as gently
as any suckling dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.