Let not thy rich blood, like neglected wine,
Grow thin and stale, but rouse thyself, at last,
And take a man’s revenge upon the Past.’”
...
“This heart is flesh, I cannot make it stone:
This blood is hot, I cannot stop its flow,
These arms are vacant—whereso’er I go,
Love lies in other’s arms and shuns my own.”
...
“Long, long ago, the Hand whereat I railed