I Love Thee, As The Good Love

Like A French Poem Is Life; Being Only Perfect In Structure When With The Masculine Rhymes Mingled The Feminine Are.

The Hooded Clouds, Like Friars, Tell Their Beads In Drops Of Rain.

Tomorrow Is The Mysterious, Unknown Guest.

My Soul Is Full Of Longing For The Secret Of The Sea

A Handful Of Red Sand From The Hot Clime Of Arab Deserts Brought, Within This Glass Becomes The Spy Of Time, The Minister Of Thought.