Death have we hated, knowing not what it meant; Life we have loved, through green leaf and through sere, Though still the less we knew of its intent.
William Morris (1871). “September: The death of Paris; The land east of the sun and west of the moon. October: The story of Accontius and Cydippe; The man who never laughed again. November: The story of Rhodope; The lovers of Gudrun”, p.400
