Desperate Remorse Swallows The Present In A

The Stars Are Threshed, And The Souls Are Threshed From Their Husks.

Silent As Despairing Love, And Strong As Jealousy.

Pity Would Be No More, If We Did Not Make Somebody Poor. Mercy No More Could Be, If All Were Happy As We.

I Was In A Printing-house In Hell, And Saw The Method In Which Knowledge Is Transmitted From Generation To Generation.

Life Delights In Life.