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They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty. -Oscar Wild, 1891

Without fear and illness, I could never have accomplished all I
have.
Edvard Munch

LXXXI



Or I shall live your epitaph to make,

Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;

From hence your memory death cannot take,

Although in me each part will be forgotten.

Your name from hence immortal life shall have,

Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:

The earth can yield me but a common grave,

When you entombed in men\'s eyes shall lie.

Your monument shall be my gentle verse,

Which eyes not yet created shall o\'er-read;

And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,

When all the breathers of this world are dead;

  You still shall live,--such virtue hath my pen,--

  Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

 	--William Shakespeare

XCV



How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame

Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,

Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!

O! in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose.

That tongue that tells the story of thy days,

Making lascivious comments on thy sport,

Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise;

Naming thy name, blesses an ill report.

O! what a mansion have those vices got

Which for their habitation chose out thee,

Where beauty\'s veil doth cover every blot

And all things turns to fair that eyes can see!

  Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;

  The hardest knife ill-us\'d doth lose his edge.

 	--William Shakespeare