Like a plank of driftwoodTossed on the watery main,Another plank encountered,Meets, touches, parts again;So tossed, and drifting ever,On life's unresting sea,Men meet, and greet, and sever,Parting eternally.
Be kind, Helen, I am so tired of thinking;There are so many difficult corridors of thought,With equal iron banisters leading back again:So many stone stairs, Helen, up which I soughtTo rediscover the windy sky, and stand, blinking,In the lost sunlight: as bright as pain,Helen. I would give almost anything nowEven for pain.t. h. (terence hanbury) white
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