Happiness, To Some, Elation; Is, To Others,

May Is Much Sunshine Through Small Leaves.

When I Go Away From You The World Beats Dead Like A Slackened Drum.

Happiness: We Rarely Feel It. I Would Buy It, Beg It, Steal It, Pay In Coins Of Dripping Blood For This One Transcendent Good.

Witches Are Moon-birds, Witches Are The Women Of The False, Beautiful Moon.

Can You See Through The Night, Woman, That You Stare So Upon It? Man, What Sparks Do Your Eyes Follow In The Smouldering Darkness?