Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It

Guarded Within The Old Red Wall's Embrace, Marshalled Like Soldiers In Gay Company, The Tulips Stand Arrayed. Here Infantry Wheels Out Into The Sunlight.

Hate Is Ravening Vulture Beaks Descending On A Place Of Skulls.

My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

My Words Are Little Jars For You To Take And Put Upon A Shelf. Their Shapes Are Quaint And Beautiful, And They Have Many Pleasant Colours And Lustres To Recommend Them. Also The Scent From Them Fills The Room With Sweetness Of Flowers And Crushed Grasses.

Witches Are Moon-birds, Witches Are The Women Of The False, Beautiful Moon.