Poets

Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells

That the wind sways above a ruined shrine.

Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells

Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine.

Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath

Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod.

They shall not live who have not tasted death.

They only sing who are struck dumb by God.