There Is No Heresy Or No Philosophy

I Came In At Half Past Eleven. Since Then I Have Been Sitting In An Easy Chair Like A Fool. I Could Do Nothing. I Hear Nothing But Your Voice. I Am Like A Fool Hearing You Call Me 'dear.' I Offended Two Men Today By Leaving Them Coolly. I Wanted To Hear Your Voice, Not Theirs. When I Am With You I Leave Aside My Contemptuous, Suspicious Nature. I Wish I Felt Your Head On My Shoulder.

He Wanted To Cry Quietly But Not For Himself: For The Words, So Beautiful And Sad, Like Music.

He Asked Himself What Is A Woman Standing On The Stairs In The Shadow, Listening To Distant Music, A Symbol Of. If He Were A Painter He Would Paint Her In That Attitude. Her Blue Felt Hat Would Show Off The Bronze Of Her Hair Against The Darkness And The Dark Panels Of Her Skirt Would Show Off The Light Ones. Distant Music He Would Call The Picture If He Were A Painter.

And Then I Asked Him With My Eyes To Ask Again Yes And Then He Asked Me Would I Yes And His Heart Was Going Like Mad And Yes I Said Yes I Will Yes.

The Pleasures Of Love Lasts But A Fleeting But The Pledges Of Life Outlusts A Lieftime.