A Dedication to my Wife
To whom I owe the leaping delight
quickens my senses in our wakingtime
And the rhythm that governs
the repose of our sleepingtime,
Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other
Who think the same thoughts without the need of speech
the same speech without need of meaning.
No peevish winter wind shall chill
tropic sun shall wither
The roses in the rose-garden which is ours
and ours only
But this dedication is for others to read:
These are private words addressed to you in public.
is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh,
When I am sad and
weary. When I think all hope has gone.
When I walk along High Holborn,
I think of you with nothing on .
have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont