Never The Time And The

That Moment She Was Mine, Mine, Fair, Perfectly Pure And Good: I Found A Thing To Do, And All Her Hair In One Long Yellow String I Wound Three Times Her Little Throat Around, And Strangled Her. No Pain Felt She; I Am Quite Sure She Felt No Pain. As A Shut Bud That Holds A Bee, I Warily Oped Her Lids: Again Laughed The Blue Eyes Without A Stain. And I Untightened The Next Tress About Her Neck; Her Cheek Once More Blushed Bright Beneath My Burning Kiss . . .

I Think, Am Sure, A Brother's Love Exceeds All The World's Loves In Its Unworldliness.

Just For A Handful Of Silver He Left Us, Just For A Riband To Stick In His Coat.

A Face To Lose Youth For, To Occupy Age With The Dream Of, Meet Death With.

Only I Discern Infinite Passion, And The Pain Of Finite Hearts That Yearn.