Moon! Moon! I Am Prone Before You.

My Heart Is Tuned To Sorrow, And The Strings Vibrate Most Readily To Minor Chords, Searching And Sad; My Mind Is Stuffed With Words Which Voice The Passion And The Ache Of Things: Illusions Beating With Their Baffled Wings Against The Walls Of Circumstance.

Witches Are Moon-birds, Witches Are The Women Of The False, Beautiful Moon.

Time! Joyless Emblem Of The Greed Of Millions, Robber Of The Best Which Earth Can Give.

Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It Is A Drowning.

On The Neck Of The Young Man Sparkles No Gem So Gracious As Enterprise. Youth Condemns; Maturity Condones.