What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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My Heart Stood Still
I took one look at you,
That's all I meant to do
And then my heart stood still
My feet could step and walk, my
Lips could move an' talk
And then my heart stood still
Though not a single word was spoken
I could tell you knew
That unfelt clasp of hands,
Told me so well you knew
I never lived at all,
Until the thrill of that moment
When my heart stood still!
Though not a single word was spoken
I could tell you knew
That unfelt clasp of hands,
Told me so well you knew
I never lived at all,
Until the thrill of that moment
When my heart stood still!