- A poet of one mood in all my lays,
- Ranging all life to sing one only love,
- Like a west wind across the world I move,
- Sweeping my harp of floods mine own wild
- The countries change, but not the westwind
- Which are my songs. My soft skies shine
- And on all seas the colors of a dove,
- And on all fields a flash of silver greys.
- I make the whole world answer to my art
- And sweet monotonous meanings. In your
- I change not ever, bearing, for my part,
- One thought that is the treasure of my
- A small cloud full of rain upon my heart
- And in mine arms, clasped, like a child
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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