Walk Through

We grow accustomed

to the Dark

by Emily Dickinson

We grow accustomed to the Dark --

When light is put away --

As when the Neighbor holds the LampTo witness her Goodbye --

A Moment --

We uncertain stepFor newness of the night --

Then --

fit our Vision to the Dark --

And meet the Road --

erect --

And so of larger --

Darkness --

Those Evenings of the Brain --

When not a Moon disclose a sign --

Or Star --

come out --

within --

The Bravest --

grope a little --

And sometimes hit a Tree

Directly in the Forehead --

But as they learn to see --

Either the Darkness alters --

Or something in the sight

Adjusts itself to Midnight --

And Life steps almost straight.

Nothing is Forgotten

If You Forget Me

by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know one thing.

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that

wait for me.

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms and my roots

will set off to seek another land.
But if each day, each hour,

you feel that you are destined

for me with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower climbs

up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished

or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love,

beloved,

and as long as you live

it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

Love

How Do I Love Thee
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,

--- I love thee

with the breath,

Smiles,

tears,

of all my life!

--- and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Reflect Me

The Perfect Friend

by Shannen Wrass

Today I found a friend who knew everything I felt she knew my weakness and the problems I've been dealt. She understood my wonders and listened to my dreams, she listened to how I felt about life and love and knew what it all means. Not once did she interrupt me or tell me I was wrong she understood what I was going through and promised she'd stay long. I reached out to this friend, to show her that I care to pull her close and let her know how much I need her there. I went to hold her hand to pull her a bit nearer and I realized this perfect friend I found was nothing but a mirror.

Behind dark eyes

Death by Emily Bronte

Death! that struck when I was most confiding In my certain faith of joy to be -Strike again, Time's withered branch dividingFrom the fresh root of Eternity! Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly,Full of sap, and full of silver dew; Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew. Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;But, within its parent's kindly bosom, Flowed for ever Life's restoring-tide. Little mourned I for the parted gladness,For the vacant nest and silent song -Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; Whispering, " Winter will not linger long!" And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,Lavished glory on that second May! High it rose - no winged grief could sweep it;Sin was scared to distance with its shine; Love, and its own life, had power to keep it From all wrong - from every blight but thine! Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; Evening's gentle air may still restore -No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish -Time, for me, must never blossom more! Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish Where that perished sapling used to be;Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourishThat from which it sprung - Eternity.

Dreams of the Insomniac

The horrors of sleep
by Emily Bronte

Sleep brings no hope to me, In soundest sleep they come, And with their doleful imag'ryDeepen the gloom.
Sleep brings no strength to me, No power renewed to brave;I only sail a wilder sea, A darker wave.
Sleep brings no friend to me to soothe and aid to bear; They all gaze on, how scornfully, And I despair.
Sleep brings no wish to fret My harrassed heart beneath; My only wish is to forget In endless sleep of death.