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
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.
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.
