It Is No Madness To Say You

No One Knows, The Heart Of A Child, How It Grows Until It Is Too Late.

The Things I Have Are Nameless, Old And True; They May Not Be Named; Few May Live And Know.

I Could Not Accept From Wisdom What Love Taught, Woman Is Perfect.

In My Garden The Winds Have Beaten The Ripe Lilies; In My Garden, The Salt Has Wilted The First Flakes Of Young Narcissus.

Words Were Her Plague And Words Were Her Redemption.