My Love Is Selfish. I

I Am Certain I Have Not A Right Feeling Towards Women -- At This Moment I Am Striving To Be Just To Them, But I Cannot. Is It Because They Fall So Far Beneath My Boyish Imagination? When I Was A Schoolboy I Thought A Fair Woman A Pure Goddess; My Mind Was A Soft Nest In Which Some One Of Them Slept, Though She Knew It Not.

The Redbreast Whistles From A Garden-croft; And Gathering Swallows Twitter In The Skies.

Through Buried Paths, Where Sleepy Twilight Dreams The Summer Time Away.

What Is There In Thee, Moon! That Thou Should'st Move My Heart So Potently?

How Sad It Is When A Luxurious Imagination Is Obliged In Self Defense To Deaden Its Delicacy In Vulgarity, And Riot In Things Attainable That It May Not Have Leisure To Go Mad After Things That Are Not.