Love That I Bear Within My Breast

But Beauty Is Set Apart, Beauty Is Cast By The Sea, A Barren Rock, Beauty Is Set About With Wrecks Of Ships.

Until It Seems The Whole City Will Be Covered With Gold Pollen Shaken From The Bell-towers, Lilies Plundered With The Weight Of Massive Bees . . .

Every Concrete Object Has Abstract Value, Is Timeless In The Dream Parallel.

My Eye-balls Are Glass, My Limbs Marble, My Face Fixed In Its Marble Mask.

Why Wait For Death To Mow? Why Wait For Death To Sow Us In The Ground?