What came of that mystical wedding, of the world we know and the world we do not know, by that rose of the spirit, committed thus in so great a hope, so great a faith? The Druid is not here to tell. Faith after Faith has withered like a leaf. But still we stand by ancestral altars, still offer the Rose of Desire to the veiled Mystery, still commit this our symbol to the fathomless, the everlasting, the unanswered Deep.

—WILLIAM SHARP, from Where the Forest Murmurs