Send Home My Long Strayed Eyes To

Poor Intricated Soul! Riddling, Perplexed, Labyrinthical Soul!

Thou Art Slave To Fate, Chance, Kings, And Desperate Men, And Dost With Poison, War, And Sickness Dwell, And Poppy, Or Charms, Can Make Us Sleep As Well, And Better Than Thy Stroke. Why Swell'st Thou Then?

Art Is The Most Passionate Orgy Within Man's Grasp.

For Love All Love Of Other Sights Controls And Makes One Little Room An Everywhere

Love Is A Growing, Or Full Constant Light; And His First Minute, After Noon, Is Night.