Hell Is A City Much Like London

Thou Art Justice Ne'er For Gold May Thy Righteous Laws Be Sold As Laws Are In England Thou Shield'st Alike The High And Low.

O World! O Life! O Time! On Whose Last Steps I Climb

Our Sweetest Songs Are Those That Tell Of Saddest Thought.

To Hope Till Hope Creates From Its Own Wreck The Thing It Contemplates.

I Love Tranquil Solitude, And Such Society As Is Quiet, Wise, And Good; Between Thee And Me What Difference? But Thou Dost Possess The Things I Seek, Not Love Them Less.