Bring Me My Bow Of Burning Gold:

Does A Firm Persuasion That A Thing Is So, Make It So?

Thou Fair-hair'd Angel Of The Evening, Now, Whilst The Sun Rests On The Mountains, Light Thy Bright Torch Of Love; Thy Radiant Crown Put On, And Smile Upon Our Evening Bed!

Love Seeketh Not Itself To Please, Nor For Itself Hath Any Care, But For Another Gives Its Ease, And Builds A Heaven In Hell's Despair.

In Every Cry Of Every Man, In Every Infant's Cry Of Fear, In Every Voice, In Every Ban, The Mind-forg'd Manacles I Hear.

The Most Sublime Act Is To Set Another Before You.