Be Warm, Be Pure, Be

Glory, Like The Phoenix 'midst Her Fires, Exhales Her Odours, Blazes, And Expires.

Man's Love Is Of Man's Life A Part; It Is A Woman's Whole Existence. In Her First Passion, A Woman Loves Her Lover, In All The Others All She Loves Is Love.

Tis Not On Youth's Smooth Cheek The Blush Alone, Which Fades So Fast, But The Tender Bloom Of Heart Is Gone, Ere Youth Itself Be Past.

I Have A Passion For The Name Of "mary," For Once It Was A Magic Sound To Me, And Still It Half Calls Up The Realms Of Fairy, Where I Beheld What Never Was To Be.

We Of The Craft Are All Crazy.