I War Not With The Dead.

And Overpowered By Memory Both Men Gave Way To Grief. Priam Wept Freely For Man - Killing Hector, Throbbing, Crouching Before Achilles' Feet As Achilles Wept Himself, Now For His Father, Now For Patroclus Once Again And Their Sobbing Rose And Fell Throughout The House.

That Is The Gods' Work, Spinning Threads Of Death Through The Lives Of Mortal Men, An All To Make A Song For Those To Come.

For Love Deceives The Best Of Woman Kind.

There Is Nothing Alive More Agonized Than Man / Of All That Breathe And Crawl Across The Earth.

I Would Rather Be Tied To The Soil As A Serf... Than Be King Of All These Dead And Destroyed.