The Mighty Rain Holds The Vast Empire

Or, Bide Thou Where The Poppy Blows With Windflowers Fail And Fair.

Where Are The Flowers, The Fair Young Flowers, That Lately Sprang And Stood In Brighter Light And Softer Airs, A Beauteous Sisterhood?

I Shall Seethe Hour Of Death Draw Near To Me,hope, Blossoming Within My Heart. . . .

The Mighty Rain Holds The Vast Empire Of The Sky Alone.

God Hath Yoked To Guilt Her Pale Tormentor,--misery.