I Understand A Fury In Your Words

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.

Men From Children Nothing Differ.

O Heaven! Were Man, But Constant, He Were Perfect.

My Tongue Will Tell The Anger Of My Heart, Or Else My Heart Concealing It Will Break.

Canst Thou, O Partial Sleep, Give Thy Repose To The Wet Sea-boy In An Hour So Rude, And In The Calmest And Most Stillest Night, With All Appliances And Means To Boot, Deny It To A King?