The Bird Sings As If

She Is Melusina, The Water Goddess, And She Is Found In Hidden Springs And Waterfalls In Any Forest In Christendom, Even In Those As Far Away As Greece. (...) A Man May Love Her If He Keeps Her Secret And Lets Her Alone When She Wants To Bathe, And She May Love Him In Return Until He Breaks His Word, As Men Always Do, And She Sweeps Him Into The Depths With Her Fishy Tail, And Turns His Faithless Blood To Water. The Tragedy Of Melusina, Whatever Language Tells It, Whatever Tune It Sings, Is That A Man Will Always Promise More Than He Can Do To A Woman He Cannot Understand.

Jane," I Said Quietly. She Opened Her Eyes, She Had Been Far Away In Prayer. "yes, Mary? Forgive Me, I Was Praying." "if You Go On Flirting With The King With Those Sickly Little Smiles, One Of Us Boleyns Is Going To Scratch Your Eyes Out.

They Say That At The Mountain Pass He Looked Back At His Kingdom, His Beautiful Kingdom, And Wept, And His Mother Told Him To Weep Like A Woman For What He Could Not Hold As A Man.

I Am In The Interesting Position Of Being Sometimes Skimmed By The Critics And Called Literature And Sometimes Called Historical Fiction.

A Man Will Always Promise To Do More Than He Can Do To A Woman He Cannot Understand.