Sing And Your Hell Is Heaven, Your

The Fallen Hazel-nuts, Stripped Late Of Their Green Sheaths, The Grapes, Red-purple, Their Berries Dripping With Wine, Pomegranates Already Broken, And Shrunken Fig, And Quinces Untouched, I Bring Thee As Offering.

I Will Be Free, No Lover's Kiss To Bind Me To Earth, No Bliss Of Love To Counteract Actual Bliss.

I Fear No Man, No Woman; Flower Does Not Fear Bird, Insect Nor Adder.

No One Knows, The Heart Of A Child, How It Grows Until It Is Too Late.

We Are These People, Wistful, Ironical, Wilful, Who Have No Part In New-world Reconstruction, In The Confederacy Of Labour.