Figurative Language 4

When the wind is low, and the sea is soft,
And the far heat-lightning plays

Your beauty was a web of frail delight.

Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

The little Road says, Go,
The little House says, Stay.

I could grow very still
Like an old stone on a hill.

My heart is but a haughty snail!

Your kiss lies on my face
Like the first snow
Upon a summer place.

How sweet the sobbing violin!

An endless quiet valley spreads out
Past the blue hills into the evening sky.

It turns out that breaking a world record isn't the easiest thing to do.