Faith Slips - And Laughs, And Rallies

Enough Is So Vast A Sweetness I Suppose It Never Occurs.

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior--for Doors Of Chambers As The Cedars Impregnable Of Eye And For An Everlasting Roof The Gambrels Of The Sky Of Visitors--the Fairest For Occupation--this The Spreading Wide My Narrow Hands To Gather Paradise

... And Then I Heard Them Lift A Box, And Creak Across My Soul With Those Same Boots Of Lead, Again, Then Space Began To Toll.

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?

Why Should We Censure Othello When The Criterion Lover Says, "thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me"?