And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn— As the star-dials hinted of morn— At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn— Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. ... "Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls— .... Had drawn up the spectre of a planet From the limbo of lunary souls— This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?"
When the clouds press close, and shadows stay, Know that the sun still hides in play. This weight you carry is not forever, And even the darkest ties can sever. Lean on me, if the journey is long, Together we’ll hum a quiet song.
Sing of the Lady of the Night Who treads on sacred, silvered ground, Sways daintily to silent sound, Adorns the sky with silver light, And lingers with the Shades. She is the Goddess of the Dawn, Twinkle of kindness in his eye, The beauty of the midnight sky, Sister to those who dance and mourn, Her love a light that never fades. She is the Mother of us all. Stand still beneath Her watchful gaze; Her light sings of unuttered praise. Sweet Love before the tragic fall— Her endless mercy all pervades. And we emerge from 'neath her spell, As golden light spills 'cross the land, Across the page, over the hand That writes these words, this tale to tell: Her strength endures, and fear abates. The warmth, the joy, the leaping heart That follows as the new day breaks, As softly, hope once more awakes. Despair and doubt now fall apart; There is healing in the Shades.
