Stored with the honey of a thousand suns
Through the slow measure of as many years!
Gla. Do brothers talk like that?
Hen. I think not, sweet.
Gla. But you will be my brother?
Hen. We shall see.
Gla. And you will stay with me? No? Ah, I fear
All that you love in me is born of these
Wild innocences that I live among,
And far from here, all such sweet value lost,