Men Tighten The Knot Of Confusion Into

A Thousand Policemen Directing Traffic Cannot Tell You Why You Come Or Where You Go.

The Nightingales Are Singing Near The Convent Of The Sacred Heart, And Sang Within The Bloody Wood When Agamemnon Cried Aloud, And Let Their Liquid Siftings Fall To Stain The Stiff Dishonored Shroud.

The Destination Cannot Be Described; / You Will Know Very Little Until You Get There; / You Will Journey Blind.

The Naming Of Cats Is A Difficult Matter

Oh, Do Not Ask, 'what Is It?'/let Us Go And Make Our Visit.