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

Yet leave me not; yet, if thou wilt, be free; love me no more, but love my love of thee.

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

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

Is not Precedent indeed a King of men? A Word from the Psalmist.

Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire Dividing my delight and my desire.

The beast faith lives on its own dung.