The Truth I Do Not

For Each Ecstatic Instant We Must An Anguish Pay In Keen And Quivering Ratio To The Ecstasy.

A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest, I've Heard The Hunter Tell; 'tis But The Ecstasy Of Death, And Then The Brake Is Still. The Smitten Rock That Gushes, The Trampled Steel That Springs,, A Cheek Is Always Redder Just Where The Hectic Stings Mirth Is Mail Of Anguish, In Which Its Cautious Arm Lest Anybody Spy The Blood And, You're Hurt Exclaim.

I Confess That I Love Him, I Rejoice That I Love Him, I Thank The Maker Of Heaven And Earth That Gave Him To Me. The Exultation Floods Me.

How Lucious Lies The Pea Within The Pod.

Unable Are The Loved To Die, For Love Is Immortality.