📔 Honey and Gall

Quotes from this book

I sing of strange songs and the wringing / Of hands in fatidical zeal, / Of great gloom-throated bells, ever ringing / With wild poems of bronze till they reel. / I sing of all terrors hell-springing, / And I sing of our woe and our weal. An ebon night had masked the sky, / Great hueless clouds soared grimly by, / They seemed to moan, they seemed to sigh / With sullen ire.