Half the night I waste in sighs, Half in dreams I sorrow after The delight of early skies; In a wakeful dose I sorrow For the hand, the lips, the eyes, For the meeting of the morrow, The delight of happy laughter, The delight of low replies.
That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break. Verse VI
I am a part of all that I have met.
If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.
