Chapter 11 Sonnets of Autumn

Your crystal eyes tell me: "What am I worth to you, strange friend?" — Sweetie, be silent!except ancient The simplicity of the beast, only my angry heart, I don't want to tell you the secrets of hell And dark tales written in fire, The woman who held the cradle and lured me to sleep. I hate passion, the spirit that brings me pain! We love each other silently, Eros in the gloomy outpost, There lurks the bow and arrow of fate. I know the weapons of the ancient arsenal: Crime, horror and madness! —O pale Margaret, You are no longer the sun of autumn, like me, Oh, such a white and icy Marguerite!