Unholy |
||
| No More Be Grieved | |
| At That Which Thou Hast Done. | |
| Roses Have Thorns | |
| And Silver Fountains Mud. | |
| Such Civil War Is In My Love And Hate | |
| That I An Accessory Needs Must Be | |
| To That Sweet Thief | |
| Which Sourly Robs From Me. | |
| And did you get what you wanted from this life even so? | |
| I did. | |
| And what was it? | |
| To call myself Beloved, | |
| To feel myself Beloved on the Earth. | |