Can Man Be Free If Woman Be

To Hope Till Hope Creates From Its Own Wreck The Thing It Contemplates.

I See The Waves Upon The Shore, Like Light Dissolved In Star-showers, Thrown.

Those Who Love Not Their Fellow-beings Live Unfruitful Lives, And Prepare For Their Old Age A Miserable Grave.

I Have Made My Bed In Charnels And On Coffins, Where Black Death Keeps Record Of The Trophies Won

The Desire Of The Moth For The Star, Of The Night For The Morrow, The Devotion To Something Afar From The Sphere Of Our Sorrow.