Dance Until The Earth Dance.

We Are These People, Wistful, Ironical, Wilful, Who Have No Part In New-world Reconstruction, In The Confederacy Of Labour.

Ah Love Is Bitter And Sweet, But Which Is More Sweet The Bitterness Or The Sweetness, None Has Spoken It.

O Ruthless, Perilous, Imperious Hate, You Can Not Thwart The Promptings Of My Soul.

Dead Men Would Start And Move Toward Me To Learn Of Love.

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.