Somewhere, someplace in the mystic shell of mine,
And hidden, forces aggregate:
They are the images of magic beings
Marking well, to toe and line,
The mystic rhythm that they had surmounted
In all of pages' history and rime.
We see them walking, as though marching,
Every day in every way
They had '€" then,
In allusion mystique
As if, as if they had,
Going to the ritual,
Grown in time and gone beyond the gate...
