Real Tenderness Can't Be Confused,

A Choir Of Angels Glorified The Hour, The Vault Of Heaven Was Dissolved In Fire. "father, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me? Mother, I Beg You, Do Not Weep For Me.

Call Me A Sinner, Mock Me Maliciously: I Was Your Insomnia, I Was Your Grief.

Song Falls Silent, Music Is Dumb, But The Air Burns With Their Fragrance, And White Winter, On Its Knees, Observes Everything With Reverent Attention.

Flowers, Cold From The Dew, And Autumn's Approaching Breath, I Pluck For The Warm, Luxuriant Braids, Which Haven't Faded Yet. In Their Nights, Fragrantly Resinous, Entwined With Delightful Mystery, They Will Breathe In Her Springlike Extraordinary Beauty. But In A Whirlwind Of Sound And Fire, From Her Shing Head They Will Flutter And Fall—and Before Her They Will Die, Faintly Fragrant Still. And, Impelled By Faithful Longing, My Obedient Gaze Will Feast Upon Them— With A Reverent Hand, Love Will Gather Their Rotting Remains.

If I Can't Have Love, If I Can't Find Peace, / Give Me A Bitter Glory.