The Quivering Of Psyche's Butterflies.

War Is A Fevered God Who Takes Alike Maiden And King And Clod.

War Wreaked On You His Hideous Ravishment; We, We Alone, Nereids Inviolate, Remain To Weep, With The Sea-birds To Chant: Corinth Is Lost, Corinth Is Desolate.

No One Knows The Colour Of A Flower Till It Is Broken.

You Are Wind In A Stark Tree, You Are The Stark Tree Unbent, You Are A Strung Bow, You Are An Arrow.

...if You Do Not Even Understand What Words Say, How Can You Expect To Pass Judgement On What Words Conceal?