Enough Is Abundance To The Wise.

To Die With Glory, If One Has To Die At All, Is Still, I Think, Pain For The Dier.

No One Who Lives In Error Is Free.

To Have Found You Is A Dear Happiness; And To Be Apollo's Son Is Beyond All My Hopes; But There Is Something I Want To Say To You Alone. Come; This Is A Private Matter Between Us Two - Anything You Tell Me Shall Be As Secret As The Grave.

This Is What It Means To Be A Slave; To Be Abused And Bear It; Compelled By Violence To Suffer Wrong.

Lady, The Sun's Light To Our Eyes Is Dear, And Fair The Tranquil Reaches Of The Sea, And Flowery Earth In May, And Bounding Waters; And So Right Many Fair Things I Might Praise; Yet Nothing Is So Radiant And So Fair As For Souls Childless, With Desire Sore-smitten, To See The Light Of Babes About The House.