Not God With Wine, Nor Death, Nor

Ah Love Is Bitter And Sweet, But Which Is More Sweet The Bitterness Or The Sweetness, None Has Spoken It.

Love That I Bear Within My Breast How Is My Armour Melted How My Heart

The Things I Have Are Nameless, Old And True; They May Not Be Named; Few May Live And Know.

Long Hours Trail In Their Purple And Long Years Are Lost In Just This Moment While Our Souls Are Near, Our Mouths Separate.

Love Has No Charm When Love Is Swept To Earth: You'd Make A Lop-winged God, Frozen And Contrite, Of God Up-darting, Winged For Passionate Flight.