Hell Is The Wrath Of God--his Hate

Corruption Springs From Light: 'tis One Same Power Creates, Preserves, Destroys; Matter Whereon It Works, On E'er Self-transmutative Form, Common To Now The Living, Now The Dead.

A Poet Not In Love Is Out At Sea; He Must Have A Lay-figure.

The Dew, 'tis Of The Tears Which Stars Weep, Sweet With Joy.

The First And Worst Of All Frauds Is To Cheat One's Self.

None But God Can Fill The Perfect Whole.