Chapter II: Foreword

Tear the red rose to pieces if you will, The soul that is the rose you may not kill; Destroy the page, you may, but not the words That share eternal life with flowers and birds.

And the least words of Sappho--let them fall, Cast where you will, some bird will rise and call, Some flower unfold in some forsaken spot. Hill hyacinth, or blue forget-me-not.

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