A clear day's warmth will often move / A lass to stray in dreams of love

She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague 'she' of all the poetry books.

Often, when they spoke of Paris, she would murmur: 'Ah! How happy we'd be, living there!' 'Aren't we happy here?' the young would softly ask, passing his hand …

It wasn't the first time in their lives that they had seen trees, blue sky and lawn, or heard the flowing of water or the rustle of the breeze in the branches,…

One afternoon in early January, the weather showed a lack of character. There was no frost nor wind: the trees in the garden did not stir.

Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear Novembe…

Some days hang over Manhatten like a huge pair of unseen pincers, slowly squeezing the city until you can hardly breathe. A low growl of thunder echoed up the …