Many A Time I Have

Where Soil Is, Men Grow, Whether To Weeds Or Flowers.

Love In A Hut, With Water And A Crust, Is - Love, Forgive Us! - Cinders, Ashes, Dust.

My Heart Aches, And A Drowsy Numbness Pains/ My Sense, As Though Of Hemlock I Had Drunk.

We Have Woven A Web, You And I, Attached To This World But A Separate World Of Our Own Invention.

Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone And Palely Loitering?