So Perish All Who Do The Like

Go, Wiser Thou! And In Thy Scale Of Sense Weigh Thy Opinion Against Providence.

Not Half So Swift The Trembling Doves Can Fly, When The Fierce Eagle Cleaves The Liquid Sky; Not Half So Swiftly The Fierce Eagle Moves, When Thro' The Clouds He Drives The Trembling Doves.

Nor Public Flame, Nor Private, Dares To Shine; Nor Human Spark Is Left, Nor Glimpse Divine! Lo! Thy Dread Empire, Chaos! Is Restored; Light Dies Before Thy Uncreating Word: Thy Hand, Great Anarch! Lets The Curtain Fall; And Universal Darkness Buries All.

Tis True, 'tis Certain; Man, Though Dead, Retains Part Of Himself; The Immortal Mind Remains.

Bear, Like The Turk, No Brother Near The Throne.