If What We Worship Fail Us, Still

I Should Like To Bring A Case To Trial: Prosperity Versus Beauty, Cash Registers Teetering In A Balance Against The Comfort Of The Soul.

You Are Ice And Fire The Touch Of You Burns My Hands Like Snow.

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

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

Oh! To Be A Flower Nodding In The Sun, Bending, Then Upspringing As The Breezes Run.