English - Poet | July 4, 1808 - April 25, 1879
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
JourneySoulSweetNightBelieve
Not until he stood at the altar did he achieve a sense of being hale and furnished. It was strange, he thought, that a man would find his surest current in the spot where he felt least worthy.
ManThoughtFindAchieveStrange
It was a perfect night for a train. The occasional whistle told Louis of all the farewells he had ever known.
NightPerfectTrainWhistleHeEver
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