Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.
O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again though cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low
As long ago, my love, how long ago.
Christina Georgina Rossetti
--Word of the Day: conniption \kuh-NIP-shuhn\, noun:
A fit of hysterical excitement or anger.
"Wah!" says Stella-Rondo. I knew she'd cry. She had a conniption fit right there in the kitchen.
-- Eudora Welty, "Why I Live at the P.O." The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty
--Quote of the Day: The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.
- Henry David Thoreau
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