Love Loves To Love Love.

Ulysses He ... Saw The Dark Tangled Curls Of His Bush Floating, Floating Hair Of The Stream Around The Limp Father Of Thousands, A Languid Flatong Flower.

Michael Robartes Remembers Forgotten Beauty And, When His Arms Wrap Her Round, He Presses In His Arms The Loveliness Which Has Long Faded From The World. Not This. Not At All. I Desire To Press In My Arms The Loveliness Which Has Not Yet Come Into The World.

Secrets, Silent, Stony Sit In The Dark Palaces Of Both Our Hearts: Secrets Weary Of Their Tyranny: Tyrants Willing To Be Dethroned.

Ask No Questions And You'll Hear No Lies.

Poetry, Even When Apparently Most Fantastic, Is Always A Revolt Against Artifice, A Revolt, In A Sense, Against Actuality.