Muster scarce trails to pursue the final tales   I might appeal once quizzed, tested & feeled   Oh, these cuts-cut-open and observed   Though barely alive-cautiously preserved      Molested are my cries   Dispersed like transparent rime   Yet strangely I see trees   Which assail with stabbing scenes      Thus maladies & their remedies mix   So violently they create loathsome tricks   Labyrinth of angles-so twisted   Shape & form the inevitable-      Through the hexen's mind   Through the sharpness of her nails   Into her grim thoughts he now sails      Lame and sterile pain   Becomes now the most desirable pain   Washed to a pond of tears   Emptied to a valley of the gifted fears   Goblets of wisdom dried   When a witch becomes a pale bride   To the raving beauty of a doubt   A garland-old & worn-out      "Here lies he who never lyed   Whose skill so often hath been tryed   Their prophecies shall still survive   And ever keep their name alive"