This world alone is not enough.I need someone to make my latté old and classy over the time;Just as the wine does as it ages.I marvellously pout, exhaling air on the brim, to make my coffee lukewarm.Stealing glimpse of those eyes.Carefully those fingers wipe the cream cornering on my lips.The clock ticks, with those sips.Residues of coffee beans lie on the bed of the cup, as I reach to the Epilogue uninterrupted.
Your cologne still lingers in the room.Your suit cuffs are still in the drawer,as I open it , tear makes it way.These walls murmur in my ears,in your hoarse voice.Your diary, describing me in every way,as rose fossils hurriedly fall down.I was in love with a writer,who made me immortalon his pages by witheringaway himself.
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catchOne of her feather'd creatures broke away,Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatchIn pursuit of the thing she would have stay;Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,Cries to catch her whose busy care is bentTo follow that which flies before her face,Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind;So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,'
One Life of so much Consequence!Yet I -- for it -- would pay --My Soul's entire income --In ceaseless -- salary --One Pearl -- to me -- so signal --That I would instant dive --Although -- I knew -- to take it --Would cost me -- just a life!The Sea is full -- I know it!That -- does not blur my Gem!It burns -- distinct from all the row --Intact -- in Diadem!The life is thick -- I know it!Yet -- not so dense a crowd --But Monarchs -- are perceptible --Far down the dustiest Road!
Eph. What Friendship is, ARDELIA shew.Ard. 'Tis to love, as I love You.Eph. This Account, so short (tho' kind)Suits not my enquiring Mind.Therefore farther now repeat;What is Friendship when complete?Ard. 'Tis to share all Joy and Grief;'Tis to lend all due ReliefFrom the Tongue, the Heart, the Hand;'Tis to mortgage House and Land;For a Friend be sold a Slave;'Tis to die upon a Grave,If a Friend therein do lie.Eph. This indeed, tho' carry'd high,This, tho' more than e'er was doneUnderneath the rolling Sun,