The Children Of LÎr
“Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water; Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose; While murmuring mournfully, Lîr’s lonely daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of woes....
AristÆus The Bee-keeper
“... Every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivers hurrying thro’ the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.” Tennyson. In the fragrance of the bl...