Moon! Moon! I am prone before you. Pity me,and drench me in loneliness.
May is much sunshine through small leaves.
I know that a creed is the shell of a lie.
Can you see through the night, woman, that you stare so upon it? Man, what sparks do your eyes follow in the smouldering darkness?
Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.
You are ice and fire the touch of you burns my hands like snow.