Or Whipping Its Rough Surface For A

He Thought It Happier To Be Dead, To Die For Beauty, Than Live For Bread

If The Red Slayer Think He Slays, Or If The Slain Think He Is Slain, They Know Not Well The Subtle Ways, I Keep And Pass And Turn Again.

We Are Disgusted By Gossip; Yet It Is Of Importance To Keep The Angels In Their Proprieties.

Cities Degrade Us By Magnifying Trifles.

We Can Only Obey Our Own Polarity.