You fear the wind, You fear the chance, You fear plagues and of death; Little auspicate, you’re winded, and drenched By son of Ares and Aphrodite, A little auspicate, therefore dreamt the worst;
Tag: Analyzation
Natural.
My dear! Enwrapped around, Senses displayed—I had thought the reality, The drought and rings of nymphs, And I, and I so foolishly pestered, Thatched by those dead, those pranced, At the sight of the endless bloom, And I have remained in my quiet room.
Pseudopsychosis. 