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Victoria is my confidant, my student, my comfort, my inspiration. Your gift to me is my pleasant treasure.

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I died for beauty, but was scarce. A poem by Emily Dickinson.

I diimageed for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth,–the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.

 

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms.
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

-Emily Dickinson