The old wall, with mock Georgian sachet windows, the new gardens, with painted crimson supports for the glass panelled, highly elevated walkway
Would that I find my soul twixt the window and the girder, would that I give my heart to you, without the fear of its own murder
The old public house, with a bed of straw and quilt, the never-ending lake which compels the father to leave his unwed daughters
Would that I find my mind, between the public house and the lake, would that I give mankind to you, without the fear, for my own heaven’s sake
