The Only People I Really Hate Are

And What Are You That, Missing You, I Should Be Kept Awake As Many Nights As There Are Days With Weeping For Your Sake? And What Are You That, Missing You, As Many Days As Crawl I Should Be Listening To The Wind And Looking At The Wall? I Know A Man That’s A Braver Man And Twenty Men As Kind, And What Are You, That You Should Be The One Man In My Mind? Yet Women’s Ways Are Witless Ways, As Any Sage Will Tell,— And What Am I, That I Should Love So Wisely And So Well?

Where You Used To Be, There Is A Hole In The World, Which I Find Myself Constantly Walking Around In The Daytime, And Falling In At Night. I Miss You Like Hell.

This Book, When I Am Dead, Will Be A Little Faint Perfume Of Me. People Who Knew Me Well Will Say, She Really Used To Think That Way.

If I Could Have Two Things In One: The Peace Of The Grave, And The Light Of The Sun.

You Are Loved. If So, What Else Matters?