Bondage Is Hoarse, And May Not Speak

O Wretched State! O Bosom Black As Death! O Limed Soul That, Struggling To Be Free, Art More Engaged! Help, Angels! Make Assay! Bow, Stubborn Knees! And, Heart With Strings Of Steel, Be Soft As Sinews Of The New-born Babe!

When Daisies Pied And Violets Blue And Lady-smocks All Silver-white And Cuckoo-buds Of Yellow Hue Do Paint The Meadows With Delight, The Cuckoo Then, On Every Tree, Mocks Married Men; For Thus Sings He, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, Cuckoo; O, Word Of Fear, Unpleasing To A Married Ear.

Is This A Vision? Is This A Dream? Do I Sleep?

But As The Unthought-on Accident Is Guilty To What We Wildly Do, So We Profess Ourselves To Be The Slaves Of Chance, And Flies Of Every Wind That Blows.

He Is Not Great Who Is Not Greatly Good.