Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
We can speak without voice to the trees and the clouds and the waves of the sea. Without words they respond through the rustling of leaves and the moving of clouds and the murmuring of the sea.
For many years, I thought a poem was a whisper overheard, not an aria heard.
Translation is at best an echo.
I will offer a choice, not an echo.
They only babble who practise not reflection.
I am now in Gibraltar. It is a large place and there does not seem to be room in this letter, in which to express my feelings about Moors in bare legs and six thousand Red-coats and to hear Englishmen speak again.
Silence may be as variously shaded as speech.
Being alone on the moors is scary; as the rain clouds settle in, it makes you realise your place in nature.
There is no love that is not an echo.
You arrive at a village, and in this calm environment, one starts to hear echo.