Come Knit Hands, And Beat The Ground

As Therefore The State Of Man Now Is, What Wisdom Can There Be To Choose, What Continence To Forbear, Without The Knowledge Of Good And Evil?

O Sun, To Tell Thee How I Hate Thy Beams That Bring To My Remembrance From What State I Fell, How Glorious Once Above Thy Sphere.

They Who Have Put Out The People's Eyes Reproach Them Of Their Blindness.

Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell.

The Never-ending Flight Of Future Days.