There Must Be Real Gods See, The

The Race May Or May Not Be To The Swift, But Tell Me, Is It Likely That The Fight Will Be Entrusted To The Dead?

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

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

One Flower May Slay The Winter And Meet Death.

There Is No Man Can Take, There Is No Pool Can Slake, Ultimately I Am Alone; Ultimately I Am Done.