As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert;—when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields;
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
As is the wand that Queen Titania wields.
And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excelled;
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me,
My sense with their deliciousness was spelled:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whispered of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquelled.

There's a certain kind of magic-
in the surging of the streets,
pounding tired feet,
children squealing,
prams wheeling,
a tide unquelled by grey sky
a sparkle in the dull hope of a scratchcard owners eye

this is the city exhaling fumes
and inhaling dreams

I ran away at every age, every year a new destination, armed with a pack filled with not what I needed but what I wanted. I never really went.
I live now with much unanswered, a heart unquelled silver at my center, a song that will bleed me dry. I never really went.
I tied myself to hearts that attached themselves too much, and did not see the world with static that blinds the eyes and burnt my ears. My mother never knew me and I am not scared. I never really went.

It was a sunny day in May
When my hopes were stuck at sea
Counting blessings for the day
Waiting that grace might set them free
I came across a horseshoe crab
Life seemed as heavy as its shell
Burdens tacking on the tab
Waves relentlessly unquelled
Flipped helplessly undisguised
Grand purposes washed away
Blindly withering to gull cries
Despair cast around the bay
My stare breaks misfortune’s luck
Faith set aright by stronger hands
Plodding heartened from the muck
Sorrows evanescent in the sand
A weakened creature found favor
Now glides peacefully towards the deep
Trusting I too have a Savior
I surrender to His keep

Green grass grows where
Leaves once fell.

Even the greatest trees have
Scars unquelled.

Each autumnal passing gives
way to a swell.

So fear neither valleys nor
mourn for a knell.