Never did the world make a queen of a girl who hides in houses and dreams without traveling.

Wanderess, Wanderess,
weave us a story of seduction and ruse.
Heroic be the Wanderess,
the world be her muse.

The disappearance of the presence of beauty is the most despairing of events on this time-wheel of ours that rolls onward towards death.

She was a free bird: queen of the world and laughing.

A girl without braids
is like a city without bridges.

She was a free bird one minute: queen of the world and laughing. The next minute she would be in tears like a porcelain angel, about to teeter, fall and break. She never cried because she was afraid that something 'would' happen; she would cry because she feared something that could render the world more beautiful, 'would not' happen.