When the whistle blew and the call stretched thin across the night, one had to believe that any journey could be sweet to the soul. — Charles Tennyson Turner Copy Share Image
The little bee returns with evening's gloom, To join her comrades in the braided hive, Where, housed beside their might honey-comb, They dream their… — Charles Tennyson Turner Copy Share Image
The rainbow bursts like magic on mine eyes! In hues of ancient promise there imprest... — Charles Tennyson Turner Copy Share Image
Not until he stood at the altar did he achieve a sense of being hale and furnished. It was strange, he thought, that a… — Charles Tennyson Turner Copy Share Image
When the whistle blew and the call stretched thin across the night, one had to believe that any journey could be sweet to the… — Charles Tennyson Turner Copy Share Image
It was a perfect night for a train. The occasional whistle told Louis of all the farewells he had ever known. — Charles Tennyson Turner Copy Share Image
