And Storied Windows Richly Dight, Casting A

What Call Thou Solitude? Is Not The Earth With Various Living Creatures, And The Air Replenished, And All These At Thy Command To Come And Play Before Thee?

A Bevy Of Fair Women.

Capricious, Wanton, Bold, And Brutal Lust Is Meanly Selfish; When Resisted, Cruel; And, Like The Blast Of Pestilential Winds, Taints The Sweet Bloom Of Nature's Fairest Forms.

For No Falsehood Can Endure Touch Of Celestial Temper.

Thou Canst Not Touch The Freedom Of My Mind.