Love is universal migraine, A bright stain on the vision. Blotting out reason. Symptoms of true love. Are leanness, jealousy, Laggard dawns; Are omens and nightmares -Listening for a knock, Waiting for a sign: For a touch of her fingers. In a darkened room, For a searching look. Take courage, lover! Could you endure such pain. At any hand but hers?
Robert GravesAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist, Poet
- Nationality: irish
- Born: July 26, 1895
- Died: December 7, 1985
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The place had enormous possibilities. He realized that at once. The stream, of course, was perfect for sailing toy boats, for skipping stones, and, in the event of failing inspiration, for falling into. Several of the trees appeared to have been specifically designed for climbing, and one huge, white old birch overhanging the stream promised the exhilarating combination of climbing a tree and falling into the water, all at one time.
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