I Had Drawn Away Into The Salt,

Take What The Old-church Found In Mithra's Tomb, Candle And Script And Bell, Take What The New-church Spat Upon And Broke And Shattered.

I Could Not Accept From Wisdom What Love Taught, Woman Is Perfect.

War Wreaked On You His Hideous Ravishment; We, We Alone, Nereids Inviolate, Remain To Weep, With The Sea-birds To Chant: Corinth Is Lost, Corinth Is Desolate.

Every Concrete Object Has Abstract Value, Is Timeless In The Dream Parallel.

There Must Be Real Gods See, The Painted Gods How Fair!