An Envious Fever Of Pale And Bloodless

They Are In The Very Wrath Of Love, And They Will Go Together. Clubs Cannot Part Them

I Kissed Thee Ere I Killed Thee. No Way But This, Killing Myself, To Die Upon A Kiss.

Now The Melancholy God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Garments Of Changeable Taffeta, For Thy Mind Is Opal.

I Think The Devil Will Not Have Me Damned, Lest The Oil That's In Me Should Set Hell On Fire.

The World Must Be Peopled!