Truth Is Within Ourselves. There Is An

Can We Love But On Condition That The Thing We Love Must Die?

Where The Apple Reddens Never Pry - Lest We Lose Our Edens, Eve And I.

Truth Is Within Ourselves; It Takes No Rise From Outward Things, Whate'er You May Believe. There Is An Inmost Centre In Us All, Where Truth Abides In Fulness; And Around, Wall Upon Wall, The Gross Flesh Hems It In, This Perfect, Clear Perception-which Is Truth. A Baffling And Perverting Carnal Mesh Binds It, And Makes All Error: And To Know Rather Consists In Opening Out A Way Whence The Imprisoned Splendour May Escape, Than In Effecting Entry For A Light Supposed To Be Without.

A Face To Lose Youth For, To Occupy Age With The Dream Of, Meet Death With.

A Lion May Die Of An Ass's Kick.