I Am A Little World Made Cunningly.

In The First Minute That My Soul Is Infused, The Image Of God Is Imprinted In My Soul; So Forward Is God In My Behalf, And So Early Does He Visit Me.

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

We Are All Conceived In Close Prison; In Our Mothers Wombs, We Are Close Prisoners All; When We Are Born, We Are Born But To The Liberty Of The House; Prisoners Still, Though Within Larger Walls; And Then All Our Life Is But A Going Out To The Place Of Execution, To Death.

Death Is An Ascension To A Better Library.

To Rage, To Lust, To Write To, To Commend, All Is The Purlieu Of The God Of Love.