Love Without Hope
Love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher
Swept off his tall hat to the Squire’s own daughter,
So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly
Singing about her head, as she rode by.
But neither 30 years of 30 centuries affect the clearness or the charm of geometrical truths. Such a theorem as…
The trouble with normal is it always gets worse.
A rose, by any other name, as sweet would smell; a rhododendron, by any other name, would be easier to…