I Think We Are In Rats’ Alley

The Dove Descending Breaks The Air With Flame Of Incandescent Terror Of Which The Tongues Declare The One Discharge From Sin And Error. The Only Hope, Or Else Despair Lies In The Choice Of Pyre Or Pyre- To Be Redeemed From Fire By Fire. Who Then Devised The Torment? Love. Love Is The Unfamiliar Name Behind The Hands That Wove The Intolerable Shirt Of Flame Which Human Power Cannot Remove. We Only Live, Only Suspire Consumed By Either Fire Or Fire.

Although I Do Not Hope To Turn Again Although I Do Not Hope Although I Do Not Hope To Turn

Every Phrase And Every Sentence Is An End And A Beginning, Every Poem An Epitaph.

One Starts An Action Simply Because One Must Do Something.

When The Gods Know That A God Hath Fallen, With This Kindly Feeling They Do Encourage Him-- Be Thou A God Again And Again.