Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.
We are fastened to a dying animal.
How can the arts overcome the slow dying of men's hearts that we call progress ?
There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven't yet met.
Come let us mock at the great That had such burdens on the mind And toiled so hard and late To leave some monument behind, Nor thought of the leveling wind.
It seems to me that love, if it is fine, is essentially a discipline.