And To 'scape Stormy Days, I Choose

The World Is A Great Volume, And Man The Index Of That Book; Even In The Body Of Man, You May Turn To The Whole World.

Thou Art Slave To Fate, Chance, Kings, And Desperate Men, And Dost With Poison, War, And Sickness Dwell, And Poppy, Or Charms, Can Make Us Sleep As Well, And Better Than Thy Stroke. Why Swell'st Thou Then?

To Be No Part Of Any Body, Is To Be Nothing.

Twice Or Thrice Had I Loved Thee Before I Knew Thy Face Or Name, So In A Voice, So In A Shapeless Flame, Angels Affect Us Oft, And Worshiped Be.

If Ever Any Beauty I Did See, Which I Desired, And Got, 'twas But A Dream Of Thee.