WHEN DEATH comes and whispers to me 'Thy days are ended,' let me say to him, I have lived in love and not in mere time.' He will ask 'Will thy songs remain?' I shall say I know not, but this I know that often when I sang I found my eternity.'
I AM LIKE the night to you, little flower. I can only give you peace and a wakeful silence hidden in the dark. When in the morning you open your eyes, I shall leave you to a world a-hum with bees, and songful with birds. My last gift to you will be a tear dropped into the depth of your youth; it will make your smile all the sweeter, and bemist your outlook on the pitiless mirth of day.