Anyway, It's Gone. And There's Nothing Left

I'm A Great Dog Fanatic. My Own Dog Died A Little While Ago And I Take It Very Personally When Things Die-it's A Major Offence.

Whatever Capacity She Possesses To Supernaturally Beguile A Human Soul—and She Possesses Many—she Liked His Clear-sightedness Too Well, To Blind Him That Way.

And In Time It Will Be As Though Men Had Never Come To This Perfect Corner Of The World-never Called It Paradise On Earth, Never Despoiled It With Their Dream Factories; And In The Golden Hush Of The Afternoon All That Will Be Heard Will Be The Flittering Of Dragonflies, And The Murmur Of Hummingbirds As They Pass From Bower To Bower, Looking For A Place To Sup Sweetness.

There Must Still Be Room For The Falling Note, Of Course. Even In An Undying World There Are Times When Beauty Passes From Sight, Or Love Passes From The Heart, And We Feel The Sorrow Of Partition.

To Dream In Isolation Can Be Properly Splendid To Be Sure; But To Dream In Company Seems To Me Infinitely Preferable.