But Fear And The Muse In Turn

But Fear And The Muse In Turn Guard The Place Where The Banished Poet Has Gone And The Night That Comes With Quickened Pace Is Ignorant Of Dawn.

There Is A Sacred, Secret Line In Loving Which Attraction And Even Passion Cannot Cross.

If I Can't Have Love, If I Can't Find Peace, / Give Me A Bitter Glory.

Song Falls Silent, Music Is Dumb, But The Air Burns With Their Fragrance, And White Winter, On Its Knees, Observes Everything With Reverent Attention.

As The Future Ripens In The Past, So The Past Rots In The Future -- A Terrible Festival Of Dead Leaves.