Prologue

When the twilight foretells of darkness, Then shall the candle burn And I await the spirit of magic With the hope it will return. I hearken closely unto the silence And thereof the voice within, For the spirit speaks unto me And tasks upon my pen. When the bewitching hour is chiming I yet dwell in the candlelight, For the shadows have lured me to a world That only thrives at night; And so I hearken unto the silence, Tho’ it be colder than the grave, Yet the spirit there comforts me And provides me line and stave. When this my room be deathly dark My candle comes alight And I toil silently nigh the shadowy form That only comes at night; For when the silence encroaches upon me And thus the voice within, The spirit relates to me the mystical words That move my lyrical pen.