Beware Of The Fury Of The Patient

Joy Rul'd The Day, And Love The Night.

They First Condemn That First Advised The Ill.

Time Glides With Undiscover'd Haste; The Future But A Length Behind The Past.

Our Souls Sit Close And Silently Within, And Their Own Web From Their Own Entrails Spin; And When Eyes Meet Far Off, Our Sense Is Such, That, Spider-like, We Feel The Tenderest Touch.

My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart Is Free.