I Found Myself Within A Forest Dark.

In Each Fire There Is A Spirit; Each One Is Wrapped In What Is Burning Him.

O Conscience, Upright And Stainless, How Bitter A Sting To Thee Is A Little Fault!

Into The Eternal Darkness, Into Fire And Into Ice.

Here We Find The Moat Of Thieves. And Just As A Lizard, With A Quick, Slick Slither, Flicks Across The Highway From Hedge To Hedge, Fleeter Than A Flash, In The Battering Dog-day Weather, A Fiery Little Monster, Livid, In A Rage, Black As Any Peppercorn, Came And Made A Dart At The Guts Of The Others, And Leaping To Engage One Of The Pair, It Pierced Him At The Part Through Which We First Draw Food; Then Loosed Its Grip And Fell Before Him, Outstretched And Apart.

That With Him Were, What Time The Love Divine