I Wept Not — So To Stone

The More Perfect A Thing Is, The More Susceptible To Good And Bad Treatment It Is.

I Saw Within Its Depth How It Conceives All Things In A Single Volume Bound By Love Of Which The Universe Is The Scattered Leaves.

But If, As Morning Rises, Dreams Are True.

Thou Shall Know By Experience How Salt The Savor Is Of Others' Bread, And How Sad A Path It Is To Climb And Descend Another's Stairs.

As The Geometer Intently Seeks To Square The Circle, But He Cannot Reach, Through Thought On Thought, The Principle He Needs, So I Searched That Strange Sight.