A Good Book Is The Precious Lifeblood

With Cowslips Wan That Hang The Pensive Head, And Every Flower That Sad Embroidery Wears.

So Much I Feel My Genial Spirits Droop, My Hopes All Flat, Nature Within Me Seems In Her Functions Weary Of Herself.

When The New Light Which We Beg For Shines In Upon Us, There Be [those] Who Envy And Oppose, If It Come Not First In At Their Casements.

Hard Are The Ways Of Truth, And Rough To Walk.

Pandemonium, The High Capital Of Satan And His Peers.