“I was wounded by a blow of love.”
“Women love the last blow as well as the last word, and when they fight for love they are pitiless as a wounded buffalo.”
“Wounds sustained for the sake of conscience carry their own balsam with the blow.”
“No deeper wrinkles yet?Hath sorrow struckSo many blows upon this face of mineAnd made no deeper wounds?”
“Blow, blow, ye western wind . . . Christ, that my love were in my arms and I in my bed again. That my love Catherine. That my sweet love Catherine down might rain. Blow her again to me.”
“I tend the wounded,/and in the tending, wound./Sometimes truly seeing another/is lethal./Loving fully, a bayonet.”