Really unreal world, will you perhaps do the breathing for me while I am away?

And still the mad magnificent herald Spring assembles beauty from forgetfulness with the wild trump of April:witchery of sound and odour drives the wingless thing man forth in the bright air.

XVII Lady, i will touch you with my mind. Touch you and touch and touch until you give me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene (lady i will touch you with my mind.)Touch you,that is all, lightly and you utterly will become with infinite care the poem which i do not write.

What concerns me fundamentaly is a meteoric burlesk melodrama, born of the immemorial adage love will find a way.

I'm living so far beyond my income that we may almost be said to be living apart.

love being such, or such, the normal corners of your heart will never guess how much my wonderful jealousy is dark

Tomorrow is our permanent address.