Originally written as a snippet for Missives and then expanded.
Though the flow’r may bloom ere long and night recede unto the dawn, so yet may love’s embrace grow fond and still be spoilt upon the wan. Brave are you and wield your smile: A cudgel, tool, a keen-edged blade. You are not wan, love is not spoilt; thus I be slain and love not fade. Have I any need for flow'rs? For nights, for dawns, for words or breath? With so keen and fond a blade, There's naught to fear in life or death. So slay, then slay! For now, I care not how, I need for naught but that which love allow.