We who run

from the presence of the sun

By the voided bitter gleam

chasing darkness like a dream

All with weary tasks fordone

ґscape the serpents tounge

To catch the shadow,

let the substance fall

Like the sun's bright beam

entagled in melancholy

Entagled in the black roars

of an image's stream

Put the wretch that lies in woe

in rememberance of a shroud

The match agreed

with flames admired

Now I find hideousness in mind

Shall I disturb this hallowed house?

I have been sent with dusk before

to sweep the dust behind the door