Eve Is A Twofold Mystery.

A Grave, On Which To Rest From Singing?

God Only, Who Made Us Rich, Can Make Us Poor.

The Little Cares That Fretted Me, I Lost Them Yesterday Among The Fields Above The Sea, Among The Winds At Play.

Knowledge By Suffering Entereth, And Life Is Perfected By Death.

Every Age, Through Being Beheld Too Close, Is Ill-discerned By Those Who Have Not Lived Past It.