The Whole White World Is Ours.

Could Beauty Be Beaten Out, O Youth The Cities Have Sent To Strike At Each Other's Strength, It Is You Who Have Kept Her Alight.

No One Knows The Colour Of A Flower Till It Is Broken.

The Whole White World Is Ours.

We Are These People, Wistful, Ironical, Wilful, Who Have No Part In New-world Reconstruction, In The Confederacy Of Labour.

My Eye-balls Are Glass, My Limbs Marble, My Face Fixed In Its Marble Mask.