The Heart Grows Weary After A Little

It May Be Said Of Me By Harper & Brothers, That Although I Reject Their Proposals, I Welcome Their Advances.

Now The Autumn Shudders In The Rose's Root. Far And Wide The Ladders Lean Among The Fruit. Now The Autumn Clambers Up The Trellised Frame, And The Rose Remembers The Dust From Which It Came. Brighter Than The Blossom On The Rose's Bough Sits The Wizened Orange, Bitter Berry Now; Beauty Never Slumbers; All Is In Her Name; But The Rose Remembers The Dust From Which It Came.

The Only People I Really Hate Are Servants. They're Not Really Human Beings At All.

Thus In The Winter Stands The Lonely Tree, Nor Knows What Birds Have Vanished One By One, Yet Knows Its Boughs More Silent Than Before

And Reaching Up My Hand To Try, I Screamed To Feel It Touch The Sky.