It Is No Madness To Say You

Ah Love Is Bitter And Sweet, But Which Is More Sweet The Bitterness Or The Sweetness, None Has Spoken It.

In My Garden The Winds Have Beaten The Ripe Lilies; In My Garden, The Salt Has Wilted The First Flakes Of Young Narcissus.

Take What The Old-church Found In Mithra's Tomb, Candle And Script And Bell, Take What The New-church Spat Upon And Broke And Shattered.

A Slight Wind Shakes The Seed-pods My Thoughts Are Spent As The Black Seeds.

Our Minds Can Go No Further. The Human Imagination Is Capable Of No Further Expression Of Beauty Than The Carved Owl Of Athene, The Archaic, Marble Serpent, The Arrogant Selfish Head Of The Acropolis Apollo.