One Flower May Slay The Winter And

The Quivering Of Psyche's Butterflies.

Love, Why Have You Sought The Horde Of Spearsmen, Why The Tent Achilles Pitched Beside The River-ford?

When You Would Think, "what Was The Use Of It," You'll Remember Something You Can't Grasp And You'll Wonder What It Was.

Love Is A Garment Riven In The Light That Rises From Parnassus, Showing The Night Is Over.

It Is No Madness To Say You Will Fall, You Great Cities.