The south-wind brings Life, sunshine, and desire, And on every mount and meadow Breathes aromatic fire, But over the dead he has no power, The lost, the lost he cannot restore, And, looking over the hills, I mourn The darling who shall not return. I see my empty house, I see my trees repair...
Read MoreWhat lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my...
Read MoreYou that have known passion, think not that you have fathomed love. It may be that you have never seen love’s face. For love thrusts aside storm-clouds of passion to unveil the heavens, And, in the heart of a woman,...
Read MoreO you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you, As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me. Walt Whitman...