Balder The Beautiful Is Dead, Is Dead!

To Be Left Alone, And Face To Face With My Own Crime, Had Been Just Retribution.

There Is No Death! What Seems So Is Transition; This Life Of Mortal Breath Is But A Suburb Of The Life Elysian, Whose Portal We Call Death.

Is This Is A Dream? O, If It Be A Dream, Let Me Sleep On, And Do Not Wake Me Yet!

Ne Speaketh Not; And Yet There Lies A Conversation In His Eyes.

For Next To Being A Great Poet Is The Power Of Understanding One.