Yet While My Hector Still Survives, I

Down From His Brow She Ran His Curls Like Thick Hyacinth Clusters Full Of Blooms

Just Are The Ways Of Heaven; From Heaven Proceed The Woes Of Man: Heaven Doom'd The Greeks To Bleed.

There Is The Heat Of Love, The Pulsing Rush Of Longing, The Lover’s Whisper, Irresistible—magic To Make The Sanest Man Go Mad.

Here, Therefore, Huge And Mighty Warrior Though You Be, Here Shall You Die.

The Man Does Better Who Runs From Disaster Than He Who Is Caught By It.