New Angel Mine, Unhoped For In The

There, That Is Our Secret: Go To Sleep! You Will Wake, And Remember, And Understand.

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless; That Only Men Incredulous Of Despair, Half-taught In Anguish, Through The Midnight Air Beat Upward To God's Throne In Loud Access Of Shrieking And Reproach

My Sun Sets To Raise Again.

But Since He Had The Genius To Be Loved, Why Let Him Have The Justice To Be Honoured In His Grave.

Yet Half The Beast Is The Great God Pan, To Laugh, As He Sits By The River, Making A Poet Out Of A Man. The True Gods Sigh For The Cost And The Pain-- For The Reed That Grows Never More Again As A Reed With The Reeds Of The River.