In Secret Love We Drown

Oh, listen to them, the children of the night. What sweet music they make. (Bram Stoker's "Dracula" (1897)) May dreams be brought that I might reach. The gentle strains of midnight speech, and frozen stars that gild the forest floor. Through the swirling snow, Volkh's children come. To run with me, to hunt as one, to snatch the lambs of Christ. From where they fall From where they fall...