... But The Rain Is Full Of

I Drank At Every Vine, The Last Was Like The First. I Came Upon No Wine So Wonderful As Thirst.

Sweet Love, Sweet Thorn, When Lightly To My Heart. I Took Your Thrust, Whereby I Since Am Slain, And I Lie Disheveled In The Grass Apart, A Sodden Thing Bedrenched By Tears And Rain.

I Am Waylaid By Beauty.

If I Could Have Two Things In One: The Peace Of The Grave, And The Light Of The Sun.

Pity Me That The Heart Is Slow To Learn What The Swift Mind Beholds At Every Turn.