The wither of a rose in foggéd glass Reflections of hidden swords and the heart Of Kurtz thine eyes so modestly can cast. The depth of solace I find in my art Stands, my David, when Goli’th and he part. My knight, symbols, strike out, inward and through! Slay the Fallen, the cursed, the weak and start The fire for the blind. Taketh me through Oh, words. Hand me the grave I holdeth to, The divine comfort, all I to resist In the shadow. Fear, is the crest renewed The wall blank. Thy reflection missed. The smallest crawler is seen with disgust, Showeth thee, thyself true, and move thou must.