Canon II

For long enough I had tarried halfway on that hill;
to see the clouded sun rise to its highest arc upon the holy day.
     Through my eyes, weary and watershed, as I milled

down that hill, my left footfall slower than the right.
Once upon the path that led to the northern wood,
     I looked back upon the hill, those gnarled beasts still in sight,

then turned back. As I entered the foreboding wood,
I drew cold breath, and saw the spindled branches frost.
Where this cold had split the bark,
      the words of those who perished could

be read, as if carved by blade. I knelt down by one
such tree: Whosoever in wont of wandering
     these northern wood; upon the darkening of the sun

the song of Erudition echoes. Knead honey-sweet wax,
and anoint therewith the ears of thyself, lest ye seek death.
     Yea, though thou be vigilant of Erudition's voice, 

heed the spirits of the Neophytes that inhabit her. 
Their pretensions are only rivalled by their lust,
     their shallow draughts have intoxicated them to lure

others down to their level, albeit, those to exercise experience
folly not in their toil. Deeper north, the underbelly of Erudition,
     are the Licentiates which gather round Charybdis, with esurience

expectations. Their preoccupations are concerned with reflections
of what they expect to find gazing into the abyss. Though they stand
     fast as Lot's wife, be wary not to gaze into their seductions,

lest ye seek the gaze of the abyss. And at the lowest north lay

the Pedagogues. These are, indeed, strange beasts. Their divided;

     those who serve the noble Gnosis, and those who wish to slay.

Let these words fall not upon blind eyes. Once finished, I stood, then as a fool

'Rien ne peut m'arrêter maintenant,' crossed my mind, as the sun set on Yule.