The Heart The Heart The Heart How

Passionate Grave Thought, Belief Enhanced, Ritual Returned And Magic.

Thoth, Hermes, The Stylus, The Palette, The Pen, The Quill Endure, Though Our Books Are A Floor Of Smouldering Ash Under Our Feet.

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

Sing And Your Hell Is Heaven, Your Heaven Less Hell.

The Fallen Hazel-nuts, Stripped Late Of Their Green Sheaths, The Grapes, Red-purple, Their Berries Dripping With Wine, Pomegranates Already Broken, And Shrunken Fig, And Quinces Untouched, I Bring Thee As Offering.