A Cup Of Hot Wine

A Countenance More In Sorrow Than In Anger.

Her Blood Is Settled, And Her Joints Are Stiff; Life And These Lips Have Long Been Separated: Death Lies On Her Like An Untimely Frost Upon The Sweetest Flower Of All The Field.

O Serpent Heart Hid With A Flowering Face! Did Ever A Dragon Keep So Fair A Cave? Beautiful Tyrant, Feind Angelical, Dove Feather Raven, Wolvish-ravening Lamb! Despised Substance Of Devinest Show, Just Opposite To What Thou Justly Seemest - A Dammed Saint, An Honourable Villain!

O Faithless Coward! O Dishonest Wretch! Wilt Thou Be Made A Man Out Of My Vice?

People’s Good Deeds We Write In Water. The Evil Deeds Are Etched In Brass.