Often A Retrospect Delights The Mind.

Heat Cannot Be Separated From Fire, Or Beauty From The Eternal.

O Faithful Conscience, Delicately Pure, How Doth A Little Failing Wound Thee Sore!

All Your Renown Is Like The Summer Flower That Blooms And Dies; Because The Sunny Glow Which Brings It Forth, Soon Slays With Parching Power.

A Rapid Bolt Will Rend The Clouds Apart, And Every Single White Be Seared By Wounds. I Tell You This. I Want It All To Hurt.

Because Your Question Searches For Deep Meaning, I Shall Explain In Simple Words