Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.

Love that endures, from life that disappears!

His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.

My future will not copy my fair past, I wrote that once. And, thinking at my side my ministering life-angel justified the word by his appealing look upcast to the white throne of God.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

Think, in mounting higher, the angels would press on us, and aspire to drop some golden orb of perfect song into our deep, dear silence.

What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.