No Work Begun Shall Ever Pause For

As If True Pride Were Not Also Humble!

There Is Nothing So Unpardonable As To Consent To A Senseless, Aimless, Purposeless Life.

Shun Death, Is My Advice.

That Moment She Was Mine, Mine, Fair, Perfectly Pure And Good: I Found A Thing To Do, And All Her Hair In One Long Yellow String I Wound Three Times Her Little Throat Around, And Strangled Her. No Pain Felt She; I Am Quite Sure She Felt No Pain. As A Shut Bud That Holds A Bee, I Warily Oped Her Lids: Again Laughed The Blue Eyes Without A Stain. And I Untightened The Next Tress About Her Neck; Her Cheek Once More Blushed Bright Beneath My Burning Kiss . . .

Graved Inside Of It, "italy".