You Are Loved. If So, What Else

We Think-although Of Course, Now, We Very Seldom Clearly Think- That The Other Side Of War Is Peace.

Stranger, Pause And Look; From The Dust Of Ages Lift This Little Book, Turn The Tattered Pages, Read Me, Do Not Let Me Die! Search The Fading Letters Finding Steadfast In The Broken Binding All That Once Was I!

I Shall Forget You Presently, My Dear, So Make The Most Of This, Your Little Day, Your Little Month, Your Little Half A Year, Ere I Forget, Or Die, Or Move Away, And We Are Done Forever; By And By I Shall Forget You, As I Said, But Now, If You Entreat Me With Your Loveliest Lie I Will Protest You With My Favorite Vow. I Would Indeed That Love Were Longer-lived, And Vows Were Not So Brittle As They Are, But So It Is, And Nature Has Contrived To Struggle On Without A Break Thus Far,-- Whether Or Not We Find What We Are Seeking Is Idle, Biologically Speaking.

What Should I Be But Just What I Am?

This Book, When I Am Dead, Will Be A Little Faint Perfume Of Me. People Who Knew Me Well Will Say, She Really Used To Think That Way.