From 'As I Walked Out One Evening' by W.H.Auden

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

From 'Martyrs'

Anna are you there? Anna? I'm here.

Yes Lucy.

Why aren't you ever scared?

I'm scared sometimes.

Not like I am.

I didn't go through what you did.

How do you stop being scared?

I...just let go.

You think so?

Just let go.

And if I can't will you be there?

Yes.

I miss you.

From 'Love me if you Dare'

Julien:

Sophie was back in the game! Pure, raw, explosive pleasure... Better than drugs, better than smack... Better than a dope-coke-crack-fix-shit-shoot-sniff-ganja-marijuana-blotter-acid-ecstasy... Better than sex, head, 69, orgies, masturbation, tantrism, Kama Sutra or Thai doggy-style... Better than banana milkshake... Better than George Lucas's trilogy, the muppets and 2001... Better than Emma Peel, Marilyn, Lara Croft and Cindy Crawford's beauty mark...Better than the B-side to Abbey Road, Jimmy Hendrix and the first man on the moon...Space Mountain, Santa Claus, Bill Gates' fortune, the Dalai Lama, Lazarus raised from the dead... Schwarzenegger's testosterone shots, Pam Anderson's lips... Woodstock, raves... Better than Sade, Rimbaud, Morrison and Castaneda... Better than freedom, better than life.

'A City Seems' by Laura Riding

A city seems between us. It is only love,
Love like a sorrow still
After a labor, after light.
The crowds are one.
Sleep is a single heart
Filling the old avenues we used to know
With miracles of dark and dread
We dare not go to meet
Save as our own dead stalking
Or as two dreams walking
One tread and terrible.
One cloak of longing in the cold,
Though we stand separate and wakeful
Measuring death in miles between us
Where a city seems and memories
Sleep like a populace.

'Piazza Place' by John Crowe Ransom

Piazza Piece

—I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying

To make you hear.  Your ears are soft and small

And listen to an old man not at all,

They want the young men's whispering and sighing.

But see the roses on your trellis dying

And hear the spectral singing of the moon;

For I must have my lovely lady soon,

I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying.

—I am a lady young in beauty waiting

Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss.

But what gray man among the vines is this

Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream?

Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream!

I am a lady young in beauty waiting.

From 'The Circus Animals Desertion' by W.B Yeats

III

Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.


He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.