I, For One, Know Of No Sweeter

Strife And Confusion Joined The Fight, Along With Cruel Death, Who Seized One Wounded Man While Still Alive And Then Another Man Without A Wound, While Pulling The Feet Of One More Corpse Out From The Fight. The Clothes Death Wore Around Her Shoulders Were Dyed Red With Human Blood.

Which Would You Rather Be, A Conqueror In The Olympic Games, Or The Crier That Proclaims Who Are Conquerors?

There Is The Heat Of Love, The Pulsing Rush Of Longing, The Lover’s Whisper, Irresistible—magic To Make The Sanest Man Go Mad.

I Long For Home, Long For The Sight Of Home.

So Peaceful Shalt Thou End Thy Blissful Days, And Steal Thyself From Life By Slow Decays.