The Heart The Heart The Heart How

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

No One Knows The Colour Of A Flower Till It Is Broken.

There's A Black Rose Growing In Your Garden.

O Do Not Weep, She Says, For Ages Past I Was And I Endure

You Are Wind In A Stark Tree, You Are The Stark Tree Unbent, You Are A Strung Bow, You Are An Arrow.