The Quivering Of Psyche's Butterflies.

Love Has No Charm When Love Is Swept To Earth: You'd Make A Lop-winged God, Frozen And Contrite, Of God Up-darting, Winged For Passionate Flight.

The Laying Of Fish On The Embers, The Taste Of The Fish, The Feel Of The Texture Of Bread, The Round And The Half-loaf, The Grain Of A Petal, The Rain-bow And The Rain.

There's A Black Rose Growing In Your Garden.

The Elixir Of Life, The Philosopher's Stone Is Yours If You Surrender Sterile Logic, Trivial Reason.

Escape From The Power Of The Hunting Pack, And To Know That Wisdom Is Best And Beauty Sheer Holiness.