The Flower That Once Has Blown Forever

Think Not I Dread To See My Spirit Fly, Through The Dark Gates Of Fell Mortality; Death Has No Terrors When The Life Is True; 'tis Living Ill That Makes Us Fear To Die.

The Wine-cup Is The Little Silver Well, Where Truth, If Truth There Be, Doth Dwell.

I Sent My Soul Through The Invisible, Some Letter Of That After-life To Spell: And By And By My Soul Return'd To Me, And Answer'd: 'i Myself Am Heav'n And Hell

I Hide My Distress, Just Likethe Blessed Birds Hide Themselveswhen They Are Preparing To Die. Wine! Wine, Roses, Music And Yourindifference To My Sadness, My Loved-one!

How Sad, A Heart That Does Not Know How To Love, That Does Not Know What It Is To Be Drunk With Love. If You Are Not In Love, How Can You Enjoy The Blinding Light Of The Sun, The Soft Light Of The Moon?