We Are All Carousers And Loose Women

I Go Forth To Seek To Seek And Claim The Lovely Magic Garden Where Grasses Softly Sigh And Muses Speak.

Flowers, Cold From The Dew, And Autumn's Approaching Breath, I Pluck For The Warm, Luxuriant Braids, Which Haven't Faded Yet. In Their Nights, Fragrantly Resinous, Entwined With Delightful Mystery, They Will Breathe In Her Springlike Extraordinary Beauty. But In A Whirlwind Of Sound And Fire, From Her Shing Head They Will Flutter And Fall—and Before Her They Will Die, Faintly Fragrant Still. And, Impelled By Faithful Longing, My Obedient Gaze Will Feast Upon Them— With A Reverent Hand, Love Will Gather Their Rotting Remains.

The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me Again.

And You Know, I Agree To Everything: I Will Condemn, I Will Forget, I Will Give Comfort To The Enemy, Darkness Will Be Light And Sin Lovely.

Real Tenderness Can't Be Confused, It's Quiet And Can't Be Heard.