The crow wished everything was black, the Owl, that everything was white.
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
The Sick Rose O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.
I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.
Joy and woe are woven fine.
Silent as despairing love, and strong as jealousy.