'My beloved has gone down into her garden to the bed of spices, to feed in the gardens and to gather lilies.' And now again is the beloved in the garden, and in those moments, oh, life is fair"
My friend Annabel Lee opened her lips—her lips like damp, red quince-blooms in the spring-time—and told me that there were times when I interested her, times when I amused her mightily, and times when in me she made some rare discoveries.
But which of the three this time was, she has not told.
