“And now, a heap of rosesbeside the sea, white rugosabeside the foaming hem of shore: brave,waxen candles… And we talkas if death were a line to be crossed.Look at them, the white roses.Tell me where they end.”

“To the sea, to the sea! The white gulls are crying,The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.West, west away, the round sun is falling, Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling, The voices of my people that have gone before me? I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;For our days are ending and our years failing.I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,Where the leaves fall not: land of my people forever!”

“The fair breeze blew,The white foam flew,And the forrow followed free.We were the first to ever burst into the silent sea.”

“The sea waves stirred before methey dashed against the rocksLike a mermaid rising from its depthscurled white sea foam were her locks...”

“I am forever walking upon these shores,Betwixt the sand and the foam,The high tide will erase my foot prints,And the wind will blow away the foam,But the sea and the shore will remain forever.”

“The middle of the road is where the white line is—and that’s the worst place to drive.”