My Eye-balls Are Glass, My Limbs Marble,

For This Beauty, Beauty Without Strength, Chokes Out Life.

I Smiled, I Waited, I Was Circumspect; O Never, Never, Never Write That I Missed Life Or Loving.

Thoth, Hermes, The Stylus, The Palette, The Pen, The Quill Endure, Though Our Books Are A Floor Of Smouldering Ash Under Our Feet.

Love Is A Garment Riven In The Light That Rises From Parnassus, Showing The Night Is Over.

I Spit Honey Out Of My Mouth: Nothing Is Second-best After The Sweet Of Eros.