D. Neill > D.'s Quotes

“Thus unto winter’s chill embrace I turn
Who once the summer’s sun did blithely bide
‘Neath solemn visage cold and fair and stern
In her cool breast my hot heart to confide.
Denied the warmth and wit of summer’s sun
Or springtime’s strength, and bright, melodious song
I dreamed not to complete what I’d begun
Nor dared to haste the laggard hours along.
But now with spring and summer sun at rest
Laid bare before bright winter’s pale charms
I would for love of her lay down my quest
And take my ease in Winter-Lady’s arms.
Before her beauty fair ‘neath snow-swept sky
All other seasons blanch and fade, and die.
- The Lost Knight's Lament, "Winter's Lady" (Forthcoming)”
― D. Alexander Neill

“What I am trying to tell you,” Trinka said softly, looking back at him, “is that there are good ways to live, and bad ones. This is not a matter of opinion; it is objective truth. The Empire fights the Wilders because we need their land; that’s true. But there are other reasons. We fight them because they are unworthy. They are not fit to share this world – this divine gift – with folk who do not murder children. With people who do not rape women, or make slaves of the weak. The Wilders are undeserving of the gift of life, of divine choice. They are not fit to be called Children of Bræa. Their way of life is a blight upon the earth. They may look like men, but they live, and behave, like beasts.
“If they were able to learn to live like civilized folk,” she sighed, “then we would make it our business to teach them; indeed, I would account it our duty to bring them into the light. We have tried. It has been more than a century since we first began settling the frontiers beyond the mountains, and in the three-score years since Duncala, we have tried many times to bring them the gift of civilization. But if they will not learn to act like civilized men, then civilized men are not obliged to tolerate them. The whole of Bræa’s creation, her divine intent, and her gift of choice to all of us – the gift of choice that grants us the possibility, and therefore the obligation, of bettering ourselves! – cries out against tolerating what by any reasoned definition is utter, bestial depravity.
“We are Bræa’s heirs, the inheritors of her divine design. We are not obliged to endure depravity,” she said gravely. “We are obliged to redeem it, if we can; but if we cannot, then our obligation – to ourselves, our posterity, and the Holy Mother’s design – is to end it.” She cocked her head. “In this wise, it might help to think of the Wilders as little different from the hordes of Bardan, whose legacy of death and devastation ended the ancient world, and plunged all into darkness for twice a thousand years.” Her fist clenched involuntarily. “We will not suffer the darkness again, Esuric Mason. My brothers...my former comrades, I mean...they will not allow it.”
She looked down at her hands. For a wonder, they were steady. “I will not allow it,” she whispered.

- The Wizard's Eye (Hallow's Heart, Book II; Forthcoming)”
― D. Alexander Neill

“Lark’s Song

That child who from Diana’s thought is born
A huntress swift, who doth the world adorn
With strength and passion worthy of the Green
May wax, and one day rise to be a queen.

That child who in the eye of Phoebus grows
Of visage fair, that none would dare oppose
May in her hand hold light and glory too,
And to the Light hold sternly staunch and true.

That child who with the face of Venus smiles,
Will bear a heart of mischief and of wiles,
And may in time love’s faithful bonds fulfil
While bending lesser hearts unto her will.

That child who with Athena’s grace doth move
May to all eyes her worldly wisdom prove
And make right wise and fulsome use thereof
To measure all who seek to win her love.

That child who with grim Circe’s tongue foretells
Enmeshing faithful hearts within her spells
By dint of sly mendacity and guile,
All innocence and virtue may defile.

That child who by her cunning doth connive
May by fair Tyche’s fortune wax and thrive
And come in time to sit upon a throne;
Or fail and fall, forsaken and alone.

That child may choose to hark to glory’s call
And shine in splendour, loved by one and all;
Or cleave to darkness, hated and reviled:
Chance crafts the fate of every fate-touched child.”
― D. Alexander Neill

“The baker kneads; the weaver knits;
The smithy plies the sun-bright steel;
The potter turns; the farmer plants;
The miller grinds his dusty meal.
While I my quill in trembling hand
Pen odes to please the fickle throng;
The greatest craftsman of them all,
Save only she who sings my song.”
― D. Alexander Neill

“O Lantern bright, who through the night
Reclines in silent leisure
While gold and silver moons above
Conspire thus in pleasure;
Their gleaming glow, to us below
Bequeaths an eve resplendent
And thus we know as, to and fro,
They rise in fire ascendant.

O show us, lamp of day, where hide the moons
Who light our loving night with star-shine strewn
O show us, lamp of day, where hide the moons
Who light our loving night with star-shine strewn

O silver moon, grant us this boon,
Who far below observe thee
We see thy love so far above,
And only wish to serve thee
The hour is late, and so thy mate
Arises swift to claim thee
With ardour hot, and so has got
No reason for to shame thee

O show us, lamp above, where silver shines
Thus followed by thy love, who for thee pines
O show us, lamp above, where silver shines
Thus followed by thy love, who for thee pines

O golden moon, we raise this tune
Unto thy gilt-edged glory
We know thy name, and blush for shame
To hear thee tell thy story
Thy silv’ry mate thy rich estate
Desires not to plunder
She rides above on wings of love
And fills the world with wonder

O tell us, lamp of gold, the reason why
Thou dost pursue thy love across the sky
O tell us, lamp of gold, the reason why
Thou dost pursue thy love across the sky

O heed my tunes, thou loving moons,
Who ply the sky above me
Perchance thy light, this darkling night
Shall find me one to love me
My aching heart must play its part,
For ‘tis alone and tender
And waxing bright, in thy fair light,
Shall rise to nightly splendour!

O prithee tell me true, ye moons above –
Shall I have naught but thee to be my love?
O prithee tell me true, ye moons above;
Shall I have naught but thee to be my love?”
― D. Alexander Neill