So if our hearts be wise Mind shall stumble on Essential idolatries Truth-sculptures. And the strait gate Adorned by dark Infidel and the children Of remorse, Will it not be Wider from the angle of this seeing? Peace. The dogs whine To love-strains 'Twere better departure Crookedly. Peace - a god's impotence. Whither? Let none pity, Let none wink sagely - There be no prefects.