His Descent Was Like Nightfall.

I Wish That Strife Would Vanish Away From Among Gods And Mortals, And Gall, Which Makes A Man Grow Angry For All His Great Mind, That Gall Of Anger That Swarms Like Smoke Inside Of A Man's Heart And Becomes A Thing Sweeter To Him By Far Than The Dripping Of Honey.

I Should Rather Labor As Another's Serf, In The Home Of A Man Without Fortune, One Whose Livelihood Was Meager, Than Rule Over All The Departed Dead.

...like That Star Of The Waning Summer Who Beyond All Stars Rises Bathed In The Ocean Stream To Glitter In Brilliance.

So Peaceful Shalt Thou End Thy Blissful Days, And Steal Thyself From Life By Slow Decays.

The Tongue Of Man Is A Twisty Thing, There Are Plenty Of Words There Of Every Kind.