Children of the Night

Revelling on for the lone, cold slaughter

An Old Story

Strange that I did not know him then,
That friend of mine!
I did not even show him then
One friendly sign;
But cursed him for the ways he had
To make me see
My envy of the praise he had
For praising me.
I would have rid the earth of him
Once, in my pride! . . .
I never knew the worth of him
Until he died.

We cannot crown ourselves with everything,
Nor can we coax the Fates for us to quarrel: