It's A Man's Jobno Place For Women's

So In The Libyan Fable It Is Told That Once An Eagle, Stricken With A Dart, Said, When He Saw The Fashion Of The Shaft: With Our Own Feathers, Not By Others' Hands, Are We Now Smitten.

For In Pure Maidens, Knowing Not The Marriage-bed, The Glance Of The Eyes Sinks From Shame.

If You Will Take Me As Your Teacher, You Will Not Kick Against The Pricks.

Everyone's Quick To Blame The Alien.

Bronze Is The Mirror Of Form, Wine Of The Heart.