The dove descending breaks the air / With flame of incandescent terror.

Clear the air! clean the sky! wash the wind! take stone from stone and wash them.

Ash on an old man's sleeve / Is all the ash the burnt roses leave, / Dust in the air suspended / Marks the place where a story ended.

He dove real well. His height is amazing. He gets up in the air as high as anyone I've ever seen.

There is not a more repulsive spectacle than on old man who will not forsake the world, which has already forsaken him.

I had seen birth and death but had thought they were different.