Naught Can Deform The Human Race Like

O Thou With Dewy Locks, Who Lookest Down Thro' The Clear Windows Of The Morning, Turn Thine Angel Eyes Upon Our Western Isle, Which In Full Choir Hails Thy Approach, O Spring! The Hills Tell Each Other, And The Listening Valleys Hear; All Our Longing Eyes Are Turned Up To Thy Bright Pavilions: Issue Forth, And Let Thy Holy Feet Visit Our Clime. Come O'er The Eastern Hills, And Let Our Winds Kiss Thy Perfumed Garments; Let Us Taste Thy Morn And Evening Breath; Scatter Thy Pearls Upon Our Love-sick Land That Mourns For Thee.

If The Sun And Moon Should Ever Doubt, They'd Immediately Go Out.

Joys Impregnate. Sorrows Bring Forth.

Time Is The Mercy Of Eternity; Without Time's Swiftness Which Is The Swiftest Of All Things, All Were Eternal Torment.

Auguries Of Innocence "the Emmet's Inch And Eagle's Mile Make Lame Philosophy To Smile. He Who Doubts From What He Sees Will Ne'er Believe, Do What You Please.