(The key to joy is disobedience There is no guilt and there is no shame)
A moon-piece to fetch up the golden cup A snow-piece to avoid the great heat of the sun Is kept in the night and by the light of the moon
An ice-piece so as they seem forever fallen A night-piece of the dismal supper and strange entertainment A rare chance-piece, a handsome piece of deformity The skin of a snake bred out of the spinal marrow of a man
With stones and illegible inscriptions found about great ruins Pictures of three remarkable steeples, or towers Built purposely awry, so as they seem eternally tipping and falling
A transcendent perfume made of the richest odorates Kept in a box of translucent scale
A glass of spirits made of ethereal salt, hermetically sealed up Kept continually in quicksilver, of so volatile a nature That it will scarcely endure the light And therefore only shown in winter Or by the light of a carbuncle, or a firefly
And batwings And batwings And batwings sing this limnal hymn A wideness opening and closing to keep the darkness sealed within To keep the darkness sealed within To keep the darkness sealed within
To keep the darkness sealed within A moon-piece to fetch up the golden cup
