I Am Tired, Beloved, Of Chafing My

Youth Condemns; Maturity Condones

All Books Are Either Dreams Or Swords, You Can Cut, Or You Can Drug, With Words.

My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

I Ask But One Thing Of You, Only One, That Always You Will Be My Dream Of You; That Never Shall I Wake To Find Untrue All This I Have Believed And Rested On, Forever Vanished, Like A Vision Gone Out Into The Night. Alas, How Few There Are Who Strike In Us A Chord We Knew Existed, But So Seldom Heard Its Tone We Tremble At The Half-forgotten Sound. The World Is Full Of Rude Awakenings And Heaven-born Castles Shattered To The Ground, Yet Still Our Human Longing Vainly Clings To A Belief In Beauty Through All Wrongs. O Stay Your Hand, And Leave My Heart Its Songs!

Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It Is A Drowning.