I am tired, beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little ink drops, and posting it. And I scald alone, here, under the fire of the great moon.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe.
When you're away, I'm restless, lonely, Wretched, bored, dejected; only here's the rub, my darling dear, I feel the same when you're near.
Since love first made the breast an instrument Of fierce lamenting, by its flame my heart Was molten to a mirror, like a rose I pluck my breast apart, that I may hang This mirror in your sight.
I think the whole world is dying to hear someone say, 'I love you.' I think that if I can leave the legacy of love and passion in the world, then I think I've done my job in a world that's getting colder and colder by the day.
I cannot sleep - great joy is as restless as great sorrow.
The blue of my eyes is extinguished in this night, the red gold of my heart.
So, fall asleep love, loved by me... for I know love, I am loved by thee.
I'm grateful for my lines of wisdom. Of course, there are days when I think: 'Oh my gawd, I look a bit tired.' But I can pull it together if I have to.
The tender heart, the broken and contrite spirit, are to me far above all the joys that I could ever hope for in this vale of tears.
My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night; but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!