When you are corn and roses and at rest I shall endure, a dense and sanguine ghost To haunt the scene where I was happiest To bend above the thing I loved the most

... but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

Life is a quest and love a quarrel

If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.

Life isn't all beer and skittles; few of us have touched a skittle in years.

But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home to a leaky castle across the sea to lie awake in linen smelling of lavender, and hear the nightingale, and long for me.