Well, What I Mean Is That I

My Wicked Heart Will Ramble On In Spite Of Myself. (arabella)

I. At Tea The Kettle Descants In A Cosy Drone, And The Young Wife Looks In Her Husband's Face, And Then In Her Guest's, And Shows In Her Own Her Sense That She Fills An Envied Place; And The Visiting Lady Is All Abloom, And Says There Was Never So Sweet A Room. And The Happy Young Housewife Does Not Know That The Woman Beside Her Was His First Choice, Till The Fates Ordained It Could Not Be So.... Betraying Nothing In Look Or Voice The Guest Sits Smiling And Sips Her Tea, And He Throws Her A Stray Glance Yearningly.

But Nothing Is More Insidious Than The Evolution Of Wishes From Mere Fancies, And Of Wants From Mere Wishes.

That Man's Silence Is Wonderful To Listen To.

It Was The Touch Of The Imperfect Upon The Would-be Perfect That Gave The Sweetness, Because It Was That Which Gave The Humanity