Night Falls Fast. Today Is

Longing Alone Is Singer To The Lute.

They Say When You Are Missing Someone That They Are Probably Feeling The Same, But I Don't Think It's Possible For You To Miss Me As Much As I'm Missing You Right Now

Spring To What Purpose, April, Do You Return Again? Beauty Is Not Enough. You Can No Longer Quiet Me With The Redness Of Little Leaves Opening Stickily. I Know What I Know. The Sun Is Hot On My Neck As I Observe The Spikes Of The Crocus. The Smell Of The Earth Is Good. It Is Apparent That There Is No Death. But What Does That Signify? Not Only Under Ground Are The Brains Of Men Eaten By Maggots. Life In Itself Is Nothing, An Empty Cup, A Flight Of Uncarpeted Stairs. It Is Not Enough That Yearly, Down This Hill, April Comes Like An Idiot, Babbling And Strewing Flowers.

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

And All The Loveliest Things There Be Come Simply, So It Seems To Me.