His Was Not The Hatred That Arises

Why Break The Heart That Never Beat From Love?

This Tower, Patched Unevenly With Black Ivy, Arose Like A Mutilated Finger From Among The Fists Of Knuckled Masonry And Pointed Blasphemously At Heaven. At Night The Owls Made Of It An Echoing Throat; By Day It Stood Voiceless And Cast Its Long Shadow.

I Am Too Rich Already, For My Eyes Mint Gold, While My Heart Cries.

There Is A Brotherhood Among The Kindly- Closer And Defter And More Integral- Than Any Of Aisle Or Coven- For Love Rang Out Before The Chapel Bell

Lingering Is So Very Lonely When One Lingers All Alone.