I stand here, a hall where ancient passions lay long-dead, and buried under stones stacked high with skill, that proudly show their age as if
“Do you think it’ll stay this warm through the week?” The young woman turned to meet, as she believed, the gaze of her male acquaintance,
The faint sound of a closing door pulled the receptionist from her book. In front of her stood a tall young man, holding a tray
The traveller’s feet dragged at a steady pace along the silver sands. Reaching one hand out, they pulled themselves over the rocky shelf that blocked
I woke at midnight from a pleasant dream Where I was not myself in all but mind; When, grafted to a far more fruitful tree,