I believe we are all asses (I first and foremost) when we publish our poems. Yet the doing so eases our souls – for some inscrutable reason; and if we can afford the consolation, and expect nothing from the public in return for our gifts, I suppose there is no reason to be urged against it.
- John Addington Symonds
His memoirs are that of freedom and strength. And, all that can be achieved through self-discovery. When he embraced his homosexuality…his health became a positive. When plagued with doubt…Mr. Symonds succumbed to many ailments related to stress and personal oppression.
It is unfortunate that John Symonds passed at a very young age…complications related to not being true to self.
Cold blows the winter wind: ‘t is Love,
Whose sweet eyes swim with honeyed tears,
That bears me to thy doors, my love,
Tossed by the storm of hopes and fears.
Cold blows the blast of aching Love;
But be thou for my wandering sail,
Adrift upon these waves of love,
Safe harbor from the whistling gale!