Ideas lose themselves as quickly as quail, and one must wing them the minute they rise out of the grass, or they are gone.Thomas F. Kennedy
William Alexander (1570? - 1640) was a Scottish poet.
- O if thou knew’st how thou thyself dost harm,
And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest;
Then thou would’st melt the ice out of thy breast
And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.
- Sonnet: To Aurora