I Am The Family Face; Flesh Perishes,

I Am The Family Face; Flesh Perishes, I Live On, Projecting Trait And Trace Through Time To Times Anon, And Leaping From Place To Place Over Oblivion.

Meanwhile, The Trees Were Just As Green As Before; The Birds Sang And The Sun Shone As Clearly Now As Ever. The Familiar Surroundings Had Not Darkened Because Of Her Grief, Nor Sickened Because Of Her Pain. She Might Have Seen That What Had Bowed Her Head So Profoundly -the Thought Of The World's Concern At Her Situation- Was Found On An Illusion. She Was Not An Existence, An Experience, A Passion, A Structure Of Sensations, To Anybody But Herself.

I Shall Do One Thing In This Life-one Thing Certain-this Is, Love You, And Long Of You, And Keep Wanting You Till I Die.

Let Truth Be Told - Women Do As A Rule Live Through Such Humiliations, And Regain Their Spirits, And Again Look About Them With An Interested Eye. While There's Life There's Hope Is A Connviction Not So Entirely Unknown To The "betrayed" As Some Amiable Theorists Would Have Us Believe.

There Are Disappointments Which Wring Us, And There Are Those Which Inflict A Wound Whose Mark We Bear To Our Graves. Such Are So Keen That No Future Gratification Of The Same Desire Can Ever Obliterate Them: They Become Registered As A Permanent Loss Of Happiness.