Yours was that Kingdom ruled by Hermes, chancellored by Bacchus,
Where idols to those grinning blights
Of nattering, senile gods from twilight ages rose to mock
The comic sinning of their acolytes.

Yours was a ship a-sail upon a silver sea to chart
Unnavigated courses to
Lost worlds of sandalwood and shadow; of ebon temples.
Charon was the captain of your crew.

Yours are the words of Thasaidon, the imagery of Eibon
And of Haon-Dor. The songs
You sing are songs that demons fear to sing, or Valkyrie:
Recounting hapless deeds and wrongs.

And now your ship lies wreckage on a phantom reef, your kingdom
Is in ruin; yet your words wear well.
Your metered lines and images retain their power
Like a master wizardís spell.