Nightshade, in despair,
Tenaciously clings to the
Melancholic rose.
Entering this world,
Bald headed and round bellied,
We leave the same way.
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For the pulchritude of each hour, Of each day, and of each night,
From hill and vale, To tree and flower, To the sun, moon and stars of light...
Behold - I am your ecstasy, agony, delight.