Quotes by Thomas Lovell Beddoes
The swallow leaves her nest, The soul my weary breast;
Young soul put off your flesh, and come With me into the quiet tomb,...
Old Adam, the carrion crow,
We are afraid They would envy our delight, In our graves by glow-worm night.
Is that the wind dying? O no; It's only two devils, that blow Through a murderer's bones, to and fro, In the ghosts' moonshine.
