I would turn my back on things supernal,
To lie on your breast a little while,
To know for an hour you were mine completely.
Mine in body and soul, my own—
I would bear unending tortures sweetly,
With not a murmur and not a moan.”
—Wilcox.
“Lannie went away. Our parting was like the clinging vine being torn from the stone wall. In ten weeks my husband arrived home. Ten days later he was the victim of a railroad accident and I was left a widow. I waited and longed for the love of my life, to take his place beside me, but Lannie did not come. At last, in sheer desperation, I wrote him. This was his answer:
“‘Dear Friend:
“‘I am pained to write you as I shall, but you cannot expect me to come to you. You know my ideas of purity so well, that I am surprised to be asked to call. I do love you, always have, and shall continue to do so, but I fear the sweetness of our love has been blighted by the madness of folly. This little verse is very expressive, I think: