Not the slow Hearse, where nod the sable plumes, The Parian Statue, bending o’er the Urn, The dark robe floating, the dejection worn On the dropt eye, and lip no smile illumes; Not all this...

. . .though the names of lovers are forgotten in time, their nameswritten across the sky as ogham threads are tracedbetween the stars

This is me being sad.Maybe you think I’m being happy in this picture. Really I’m being sad but pretending I’m being happy. I’m doing that because I think people won’t like me if I look...

Well, memory can play tricks. Most people, I think, tend to remember the good rather than the bad when someone close to them dies.

Oft in the stilly night,Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me,Fond memory brings the lightOf other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood years,The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shown Now...