from Go Spell Death Backwards

The music of the violin
weeps down the troubled waters of the Nile.
If Time could reconcile
the Day, and spar with Night,
our sin would be the viol;
we'd only weep a while
if Time could reconcile.

If Time could reconcile? Ah me!
The dust lies on the cask of silent kings
like brothers bound and burdened - he
must reap her rusted trophy-things
and die immortally.
And die immortally, for Time
is but the coronet on Death's cold brow,
entombed and entreated;
nor can policy
much move the goddess seated in the stone.
She sits alone as he,
and Time shall speak for three;
the obelisk shall be
guarantor of inheritances sown
into the Sphinx, and we
shall see who is cheated
when Time her covenant shall disavow.

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