Night Falls Fast. Today Is In The

You Wrote Me A Beautiful Letter, I Wonder If You Meant It To Be As Beautiful As It Was. I Think You Did; For Somehow I Know That Your Feeling For Me, However Slight It Is, Is Of The Nature Of Love... When You Tell Me To Come, I Will Come, By The Next Train, Just As I Am. This Is Not Meekness, Be Assured; I Do Not Come Naturally By Meekness; Know That It Is A Proud Surrender To You.

The Fabric Of My Faithful Love No Power Shall Dim Or Ravel Whilst I Stay Here - But Oh, My Dear, If I Should Ever Travel!

Here's A Song Was Never Sung: Growing Old Is Dying Young.

And Her Voice Is A String Of Colored Beads, Or Steps Leading Into The Sea.

Death Devours All Lovely Things.