Youth Is Stranger Than Fiction.

I Have Been So Great A Lover: Filled My Days So Proudly With The Splendour Of Love's Praise, The Pain, The Calm, And The Astonishment, Desire Illimitable, And Silent Content, And All Dear Names Men Use, To Cheat Despair, For The Perplexed And Viewless Streams That Bear Our Hearts At Random Down The Dark Of Life.

I Have Need To Busy My Heart With Quietude.

In Your Arms Was Still Delight, Quiet As A Street At Night; And Thoughts Of You, I Do Remember, Were Green Leaves In A Darkened Chamber, Were Dark Clouds In A Moonless Sky.

Infinite Hungers Leap No More I In The Chance Swaying Of Your Dress; And Love Has Changed To Kindliness.

I Thought When Love For You Died, I Should Die. It's Dead. Alone, Most Strangely, I Live On.