You, Beloved, are the silvery lake shimmering in the desert of my youth. - Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff

There is a little place in me </br> That cries like any child, </br> To be as forest things are, free, </br> Lonely, and strange and wild!

I shall go smiling </br> Into the great beyond, </br> Looking upon the silence as release, </br> Looking upon the darkness as a dream, </br> Looking upon the deep unknown as rest.

Bring me a languid woman, perfumed, young, </br> Her dusky body hung with dazzling gems </br> And strange, exotic iridescent stuffs — </br> Her wanton eyes like thirsty summer moons.