War Is No Strife To The Dark

A Wretched Soul, Bruised With Adversity, We Bid Be Quiet When We Hear It Cry. But Were We Burd'ned With Like Weight Of Pain, As Much Or More We Should Ourselves Complain: So Thou, That Hast No Unkind Mate To Grieve Thee, With Urging Helpless Patience Wouldst Relieve Me; But If Thou Live To See Like Right Bereft, This Fool-begged Patience In Thee Will Be Left.

Exceeds Man's Might: That Dwells With The Gods Above.

Affection Is A Coal That Must Be Cooled; Else, Suffered, It Will Set The Heart On Fire.

Do Not Speak Like A Death's-head, Do Not Bid Me Remember Mine End.

O War! Thou Son Of Hell!