yet for one rounded moment i will be
no more to you than what my lips may give
and in the circles of your kisses live
as in some island of a storm blown sea
where cold surges of infinity
upon the outward reefs unheeded grieve
and the loud murmur of our blood shall weave
primeval silences around you and me
if in that moment we are all we are
we live enough
let this for all requite do i not know
some winged thing from afar
are borne along illimitable night
to dance their lives out in a single flight
between the moonrise and the setting star
edith wharton
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
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