Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?
We are closed in, and the key is turned / On our uncertainty.
It seems to me that true love is a discipline.
From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.
And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.
Style, personality - deliberately adopted and therefore a mask - is the only escape from the hot-faced bargainers and money-changers.