Oh, The Brave Music Of A Distant

But Helpless Pieces Of The Game He Plays Upon This Checker-board Of Nights And Days; Hither And Thither Moves, And Checks, And Slays, And One By One Back In The Closet Lays.

The Flower That Once Has Blown Forever Dies.

The Revelations Of Devout And Learn'd Who Rose Before Us, And As Prophets Burn'd, Are All But Stories, Which, Awoke From Sleep They Told Their Comrades, And To Sleep Return'd.

A Loaf Of Bread, A Jug Of Wine, And Thou.

So I Be Written In The Book Of Love. I Do Not Care About That Book Above. Erase My Name, Or Write It As You Will. So I Be Written In The Book Of Love.