Words Were Her Plague And Words Were

There Is No Man Can Take, There Is No Pool Can Slake, Ultimately I Am Alone; Ultimately I Am Done.

The Race May Or May Not Be To The Swift, But Tell Me, Is It Likely That The Fight Will Be Entrusted To The Dead?

Take What The Old-church Found In Mithra's Tomb, Candle And Script And Bell, Take What The New-church Spat Upon And Broke And Shattered.

Maid Of The Luminous Grey-eyes, Mistress Of Honey And Marble Implacable White Thighs And Goddess, Chaste Daughter Of Zeus.

Luminous, Unfearful; High-priestesses, Our Fervour Shall Banish All Evil.