The Stars Never Lie, But The Astrologers

The Gods, Likening Themselves To All Kinds Of Strangers, Go In Various Disguises From City To City, Observing The Wrongdoing And The Righteousness Of Men.

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

A Councilor Ought Not To Sleep The Whole Night Through, A Man To Whom The Populace Is Entrusted, And Who Has Many Responsibilities.

Nothing Feebler Does Earth Nurture Than Man, Of All Things Breathing And Moving.

I Can't Even Say The Word 'titmouse' Without Giggling Like A Schoolgirl.