Real Are The Dreams Of Gods, And

Call The World If You Please "the Vale Of Soul-making." Then You Will Find Out The Use Of The World.

That Which Is Creative Must Create Itself.

And How They Kist Each Other's Tremulous Eyes.

Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled Wards, And Seal The Hushed Casket Of My Soul.

Parting They Seemed To Tread Upon The Air, Twin Roses By The Zephyr Blown Apart Only To Meet Again More Close.