+
I only saw my young love,
Like flowers in the sun —
Her hands like waxen petals,
Where yawning poppies run.
-- Stephen Vicent Benet
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Prisoned on watery shore,
Starry jealousy does keep my den
Cold and hoar;
Weeping o’er,
I hear the father of the ancient men.
—William Blake
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New forms and faces, passing ever,
May hide the one I still retain,
Defined, and fixed, and fading never,
Stamped deep on vision, heart,
and brain.
-- Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell
