She often gulped it down alone, I fear, Within her heart the sadness of despair, For near to midnight I would vaguely hear A lurching step, a stumbling on the stair. The window's empty now, they've gone away, And yonder, see, their furniture's for sale. The love that sought to brighten up the gloom, The woman-courage tested overmuch. When you had time, before the baby came. Aye, every touch and turn some story tells Of sweet conspiracies and dead delights.
Imagination is the great gift of the gods.
Given it, one does not need to look afar for subjects. There is romance in every face. Those who have Imagination live in a land of enchantment which the eyes of others cannot see. Yet if it brings marvelous joy it also brings exquisite pain. Who lives a hundred lives must die a hundred deaths.