Night Falls Fast. Today Is In The

But You, You Foolish Girl, You Have Gone Home To A Leaky Castle Across The Sea To Lie Awake In Linen Smelling Of Lavender, And Hear The Nightingale, And Long For Me.

A Poem From Edna St. Vincent Millay: Grown-up Was It For This I Uttered Prayers, And Sobbed And Cursed And Kicked The Stairs, That Now, Domestic As A Plate, I Should Retire At Half-past Eight?

The Fabric Of My Faithful Love No Power Shall Dim Or Ravel Whilst I Stay Here - But Oh, My Dear, If I Should Ever Travel!

I, Being Born A Woman And Distressed By All The Needs And Notions Of My Kind, Am Urged By Your Propinquity To Find Your Person Fair, And Feel A Certain Zest To Bear Your Body's Weight Upon My Breast; So Subtly Is The Fume Of Life Designed, To Clarify The Pulse And Cloud The Mind, And Leave Me Once Again Undone, Possessed. Think Not For This, However, The Poor Treason Of My Stout Blood Against My Staggering Brain, I Shall Remember You With Love, Or Season My Scorn With Pity, - Let Me Make It Plain: I Find This Frenzy Insufficient Reason For Conversation When We Meet Again.

Night Falls Fast. Today Is In The Past.