Reflection

I have intrigued at moments the deepest ideas of mine

And despair has been the best result of time

And even so, disappointment veiled me

Vexation floated, as I turned angry.

But a soothing word, how deeply moving!

And a charming laugh, how truly improving!

I woke that day unfaithful and hopeless

And fell asleep joyous and fearless.

Doubtful Stages

An error universally believed it is, I know,

That we should look at you when you are in glow

But I have noticed, oh, so, so long ago

How happy you are when you're stared at in awe.

But this only leads to one explanation

And please, there is only one interpretation,

That you think of yourself too weak, very ill

But so far you haven't fallen, yet I'm sure you will.

Warm Shoulder

Whose hands are gentler than his

And whose poison is softer?

Who laughs and never weeps

And who smiles hereafter?

He softened reality and made it real

Since I can't remember, I guess it didn't hurt

And he drew away all that I would fear

All that he was doing was worth.

He'd been so lonely before I came

I guess I was so too, yet he won't know

And I guess he still is, but he won't say

It won't hurt him if I don't show.

As I live in the future, my doubts are just fine

And my hopes are still honest, so it is to see

I can't remember however the last time

I proved wrong, and so wrong only I could be!

But I'm fine; though that day we'll meet

It'll never be, ever, (I guess it won't)

Made me see clearly what it was cracked up to be,

And it truly justified his warmth.

Can this be love that I feel?

I persuaded myself that way,

So this must be how to love - but it's not real!

Yet how can I possibly kiss it away?!

Dear Me!

It can only be my fault, my doing. For no sane being may understand the sense of these words, for this I lay them in a complete mystery - but as I lay them, I forget that he is no exception to the leading army. The very qualities of a ruler he indeed possesses - is it hard to remember this? Alas, were he the leader, it would be still harder to get near his sphere - the sphere of affection, it is to me. As I call him 'sir', letting my superiority - and my modesty - sink, I demand his being fit for this title; is he, however, the sole being that should understand my writing? My words, are they appropriate to reach his attention? Drawing him near is much easier after I have captured his glance. But I have never been to shine. The sparkle, if there is one indeed, is hidden inside, though its covers are I believe pleasant, therefore it should not be hard to unlace them.

There are few that have reached that level of intrusion, in my deepest thoughts, for I, as everyone else, am complex and a bit uneasy to read.

LAUGH AS YOU WISH, I am now sincere and nor you, nor any of your little role-playing characters can tie my tongue - it is but your concern whether you are as well honest - loyalty shall never be asked of you - honest, yes, for truth is the key to understanding and fellowship. At least most of us think.

He whom I intended to write to is little to be bothered with this little remark I made. Yes, my dear sir shall never be concerned - except, of course, when he himself demands it.

Yet it is a sure matter that future shall erase his memory - and that his hurting shall pass like any other - any 'suffering' girl must pass this test of resistance - but this, that I now write, shall never, perhaps, be hidden in time's fierce shadows; and these remains will make me remember how no one could find a key to my mind.

A Life Dedicated - To Miss Hatred

Short in thought,

Yet long in talk

A character of someone's play

A child long gone astray

This, dedicated amiss

Paid - but nothing saved.

Mistakenly right, at such a height

Run away, so hard a weight

Waited in silence, no violence

Never found, but still around,

Lost in noise, but left a choice.

Described as a saint, nearly to faint

Gone, no one knows - as it shows

No proof of existence, but a strong resistance

No worse or better, but want of the latter.

Miss Modesty

How different we are - still so close, I know

I know that tears have never been so alike,

Yet that far in distance; but no one can show

So high a place - so pretty a face.

Will You Come?

Sir, my hope can never be astonished by your insensibility,

I've claimed it all along, though I can barely see

How you challenge my nerves to that point of curiosity

And how you make me think, let him be, let him be.

Sir, am I superior to you, is that what you ask me to believe?

Am I worthy, is it love that I consider despise?

Oh, dear, how you have made me wonder with no relief!

Made me wonder how I could bear these lies.

A gathering is taking place, you should come.

Let us laugh at our own beloved flaws!

Blemishes are considerably amusing, every last one

You cannot miss one of these shows!

Am I to be found at home, you ask;

Well yes, I've always been a precious host,

Though you came to none of my parties in the past -

But this time I shall make you come at all costs.

Sir, you have solved too many puzzles, therefore

You cannot be that puzzled yourself, I think;

May I ask for the permission to glance as before?

But I guess you wouldn't stand being read as ink.

As I am offering the invitation, Mr Liar,

I can quite see, yes, indeed, I see!

Propriety bids me to grant its last desire -

So, dear sir, will you come to tea?

Only

It is hard to cut through this tormenting wall,

And too much of a bother to you it surely is.

The matter you're so harsh upon, with no peace

Leaves me unchanged, only hating you all more.

For as I try to express what I only comprehend

You come and imagine to understand

What in this world unique can only be

I believe there's only one heart that can listen to me.

If only I could prevent this infatuate rage

Only to find that it will still age.

If only I knew what I was supposed to

If only I saw what was already true.

Phase

How sweet the gaze,

How great the phase,

How distant a world,

How quickly assured!

How weary the past

How late is the last

So bright a tomorrow

So lovely an arrow!

How changing a mind

So different a kind

What a heart you have,

What dreams you save!

A Dreadful Promise Never Spoken

That you should have noticed long ago

How my eyes were wandering in search of you,

Oh, and that you knew all along, and never showed

Hardly have I considered this thought true!

Alas, my love, that you should have hated me

And that your thoughts were not like mine

And so long unaware, how could I not be?

That your eyes so doubtfully feigned!

Why - you never said a word, how could you speak

When nothing but promises were left to keep

That you should have seen me so weak,

And I had thought you would weep!

That my love had never been shared

This thought seldom passed my head

That your love had never been prepared

This I know neither of us said.

Oh, my dear, how happy I would be

To hear that your love had always been the same

Even then, how real my dreams would seem

And so far from this strange shame!

But no promise has been made - how can it be kept?

You have never; and perhaps won't,

Because, the way I've been once left

Never changes; and you as well don't.

Elegance

The night proceeds in its dark pace

As my eyes wander on such ways,

That I should start and consider

What I could not see before either

Is what keeps me long awake.

In this cold blackness that we call world

Is there any space where I can leave a word?

Whatever I shall say, will pass

And will leave me as before

With no heart, soul or core.

The night proceeds in its dark pace

With so little warning, there she comes in grace

A princess above kings

A lady above queens

There the moon is still and sings.

Pure Madness

In its rigid form, no details,

Is this madness sane enough?

I cannot tell - you tell me.

Actions of the future untold;

Screaming of the inside, still unheard;

Fear of darkness never exposed

Emotions of the emptiness you chose.

Sanity is madness - madness is sane

The heart is so sweetly lain upon the aching floor,

That sweet revival that hurts just like a thorn

Those sweet intrusions of thoughts so mad

That constant whisper you are not yet dead.

Pleasing and Unfurnished

No - this may be what I wish,

And no curiosity and despise shall prevent it.

Though this, later in life, I may not cherish

What has it to do really with your wit,

Or must I beg for a restless favour

Or do I have a great right to call it mine;

The reply was not fulfilling; yet a good endeavour

It surely was; yet not that fine.

Pleasing and unfurnished your soul is

Thousands of days have passed; from it I learned

How great it must be to you to tease

A happy heart - so unconcerned.

Chapter 21

"Miss Barton," he then started, avoiding her gaze as Lilian thought, "may I ask what your age is?"

This inquiry made Lilian wonder at its meaning; merely bumbling, she replied, "Twenty-two."

"Is it, indeed? Since the ball given to your anniversary last year I have constantly told myself that you have and will always be one-and-twenty years old; please forgive me for my impertinence."

"What?!" she exclaimed joyfully when hearing his remark, "is it impertinence in your eyes? Why, may I ask? I cannot think it more than an amusing matter; Mr Barnes, you must know that I shall grow older and older - no one is spared from this sad trouble, yet -"

"Yet it may seem easier to be troubled when not alone, may it not -" then softening his voice, he called her, "Lilian?"

This particular name - the very one that did not seem distinct at all - Lilian could as well bear to be known as Jane or Mary - this name, that sounded so common when spoken by her parents and sister - the name that had never made her wonder at his origin, or the reason of her having been named thus - even though his sweet, soft voice had called her once by this name, yet her emotions were headed in a different direction - this very name of hers, Lilian, awoke in herself such feelings that she would not have been able to translate into words. This could have seemed a prevention from his being let to understand her, were she not to say, nothing ever preventing him from it, "Yes, Edward, I cannot agree more."

This sudden rush she felt, never encountered before, struck him; it was not, however, the unexpected addressing that amazed him more; but the look she sent him while addressing him, and the motion of her lips that whispered his name - these conceived his eyes to widen; seeing this, Lilian turned her face and her complexion reddened with surprise at her own courage. But being a very fine young lady, or at least knowing that she was expected to be one, she said, with signs of uneasiness:

"This, I am sure, has been a very good proof of impertinence from me."

While she spoke, she felt disappointment when seeing that her emotions could hardly reach him, for once she turned her head, his look followed hers; he was looking for the others, as if he was asking for support. His face showed no longer comprehension of her feelings - little did she know that thus he was being filled with shyness, sentiments and love; little did Lilian know that his eyes could not meet her because of his feelings that came over him. His lips suddenly moved; they whispered something Lilian could not reach; her sweet bitterness, now beginning to embrace her, encouraged her to say, "Forgive me, Mr Barnes," and walk away.

"I have surely made his life worse by it, how could I," her thoughts were succeeded one after another, "but he has called me by my name first, I cannot forget that, yet - how stupid of me - he had more right to call me Lilian than I had to call him... Edward," but as soon as seeing the real effect of the passed event, the worst appeared in her mind: "I know what this will lead to - I know what I have done -"; this sudden realization brought her to tears; while being unsure whether to wipe them away or not, she spoke in a quietest voice: "This will make him hate me. This will destroy my happiness and future; this will pull him away from here - I - I, with my own lips have -" These thoughts would have been succeeded by endless accusations to herself; should she have not been turned to face Mr Barnes. He had followed her there; his eyes, as Lilian noticed through her tears, were unusually black; but she did not know the meaning of this. Having forgotten to dry her eyes, Lilian's figure seemed helpless - her expression could not have made him endure more silence.

Time had run wildly through the trees around them - the agony had been lost and her tears found their end in his shoulder. Emily could have dreamt thousands of years to find her happy ending - Lilian would have made her forget it - Emily could have told her that no one should be left behind - her sister would have said, "Emily, your dreams cannot be real" - Lilian had dreamt that no such ending existed. But what her sister had found at the age of seventeen, Lilian had been to find when being five years older.

What he had considered to be indifference he found out to be affection; her smiles he had thought to be only to a friend - but one thing he had guessed right was that from no cousin of his he could have received so much love and attachment as from Lilian.