What am I, Life? A thing of watery salt...
-John Masefield, Sonnets
This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven".
Preface to the Excursion
Love is but a mist in the night,
a summer breeze, a bird in flight.
Love is a cloud floating in the sky,
the ashes in the wind, a soft anguished cry.
Love is the lonely cry of the loon,
the absence of light, the dark of the moon.
Love is the tears of the mind,
the throe of thought, the mirage of the blind.
Love is the tormented struggle to fathom the illusions,
the heart's aching pain, the soul's delusions.
-Dede, Love Is But A Mist
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