|I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me—who knows how?
To thy chamber window, Sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
O, lift me from the grass!
Love is, above all, the gift of oneself. - Jean Anouilh,
When I am
sad and weary. When I think all hope has gone.
Those have most power to hurt us that we love. - Francis Beaumont