O woman-country! wooed not wed, Loved all the more by earth's male-lands, Laid to their hearts instead. - Robert Browning

A bitter heart that bides its time and bites.

There is no truer truth obtainable By Man than comes of music.

... Such a scribe
you pay and praise for putting life in stones,
Fire into fog, making the past your world.
There's plenty of 'How did you contrive to grasp
The thread which led you through this labyrinth?
How build such solid fabric out of air?
How on so slight foundation found this tale,
Biography, narrative?' or, in other words,
How many lies did it require to make
The portly truth you here present us with?