Each Time We Love,we Turn

A Poem Round And Perfect As A Star.

The Saddest Thing That Befalls A Soul Is When It Loses Faith In God And Woman.

The Sun Was Down, And All The West Was Paved With Sullen Fire. I Cried, Behold! The Barren Beach Of Hell At Ebb Of Tide.

Love Is But The Discovery Of Ourselves In Others, And The Delight In The Recognition.

Looking Forward Into An Empty Year Strikes One With A Certain Awe, Because One Finds Therein No Recognition. The Years Behind Have A Friendly Aspect, And They Are Warmed By The Fires We Have Kindled, And All Their Echoes Are The Echoes Of Our Own Voices.