"A glass of sherry and a biscuit, please. Now look here, Eliza, what's all this about?
"My room is sweet and blue
(Cold is the white moon's breast),
I will not think of you,
I will sleep and rest."
(Cold is the white moon's breast),
I will not think of you,
I will sleep and rest."
"Wait until William has brought thy sherry, please!"
"All right now?
"Moonsilver drowns me deep,
I will not call your name,
I float in the sea of sleep.
(God! For those nights of flame!)"
I will not call your name,
I float in the sea of sleep.
(God! For those nights of flame!)"
"Thee needn't look at me that way, Johnnie, I didn't write it. Thee knows thee can say things in poetry that wouldn't do in conversation, and I'm sure it's lovely, they're all lovely, only I hope people won't think they mean anything."
"It must have been very hard to find all the rhymes," Aunt Deborah's faint old voice sighed
