Perhaps the wind
Wails so in winter for the summers dead,
And all sad sounds are nature’s funeral cries
For what has been and is not.

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More from George Eliot

An election is coming. Universal peace is declared, and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry.

Felix Holt (1866)

It’s but little good you’ll do watering last year’s crops.

He was like a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow.

Chap. xxxiii.

Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact.

Impressions of Theophrastus Such, chapter 4.

Wear a smile and have friends; wear a scowl and have wrinkles. What do we live for if not to make the world less difficult for each other?