Into The Eternal Darkness, Into Fire And

O Power Of Fantasy That Steals Our Minds From Things Outside, To Leave Us Unaware, Although A Thousand Trumpets May Blow Loud--what Stirs You If The Senses Show You Nothing? Light Stirs You, Formed In Heaven, By Itself, Or By His Will Who Sends It Down To Us.

Here Let Dead Poetry Rise Once More To Life.

Honor Is The Greatest Poet.

These Have Not The Hope To Die.

The Infernal Storm, Eternal In Its Rage, Sweeps And Drives The Spirits With Its Blast; It Whirls Them, Lashing Them With Punishment. When They Are Swept Back Past Their Place Of Judgment Then Come The Shrieks, Laments, And Anguished Cries; There They Blaspheme God's Almighty Power.