.. . . Would I Were In

One May Not Doubt That, Somehow Good Shall Come Of Water And Of Mud; And Sure, The Reverent Eye Must See A Purpose In Liquidity.

Love Is A Breach In The Walls, A Broken Gate, Love Sells The Proud Heart's Citadel To Fate.

Yet, Behind The Night, Waits For The Great Unborn, Somewhere Afar, Some White Tremendous Daybreak.

I Have Need To Busy My Heart With Quietude.

Down The Blue Night The Unending Columns Press In Noiseless Tumult, Break And Wave And Flow