Tell her this And more,— That the king of the seas Weeps too, old, helpless man. The bustling fates Heap his hands with corpses Until he stands like a child With surplus of toys.

Every sin is the result of collaboration.

The red sun was pasted in the sky like a wafer.

Let me into the darkness again.

Perhaps an individual must consider his own death to be the final phenomenon of nature.

But I like it Because it is bitter, And because it is my heart.

He vaguely desired to walk around and around the body and stare; the impulse of the living to try to read in dead eyes the answer to the Question.