To-night when the full-bellied moon swallows the stars. Grant that I know.
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good.
Hate is ravening vulture beaks descending on a place of skulls.
A man must be sacrificed now and again to provide for the next generation of men.
I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you; of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it.