Why Wait For Death To Mow? Why

Maid Of The Luminous Grey-eyes, Mistress Of Honey And Marble Implacable White Thighs And Goddess, Chaste Daughter Of Zeus.

I Smiled, I Waited, I Was Circumspect; O Never, Never, Never Write That I Missed Life Or Loving.

Love Is A Garment Riven In The Light That Rises From Parnassus, Showing The Night Is Over.

I Spit Honey Out Of My Mouth: Nothing Is Second-best After The Sweet Of Eros.

The Fallen Hazel-nuts, Stripped Late Of Their Green Sheaths, The Grapes, Red-purple, Their Berries Dripping With Wine, Pomegranates Already Broken, And Shrunken Fig, And Quinces Untouched, I Bring Thee As Offering.