But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.

To wipe off the froth of falsehood from the foaming lips of inebriated virtue, when fresh from the sexless orgies of morality and reeling from the delirious riot of religion, may doubtless be a charitable office.

Ask nothing more of me sweet; All I can give you I give; Heart of my heart were it more, More would be laid at your feet.

Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.

Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath;/ We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death

Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day that we die.

I remember the way we parted, The day and the way we met; You hoped we were both broken-hearted And knew we should both forget.