You, Beloved, are the silvery lake shimmering in the desert of my youth.
You only can allay the fever of my spirit!
On your lips I should drain the fountain of life.
On your white breast I shall breathe the perfume of numberless lilies.
Therein I shall die a thousand deaths and arise reborn in the awful splendor of your love….
—Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff, from “I Walk Alone,” The Book of Love. (Kessinger Publishing, LLC September 10, 2010) Originally published 1917.