In Thy Face I See The Map

I Can Again Thy Former Light Restore, Should I Repent Me: But Once Put Out Thy Light, Thou Cunning'st Pattern Of Excelling Nature, I Know Not Where Is That Promethean Heat That Can Thy Light Relume.

My Grief Lies Onward, And My Joy Behind.

The Let-alone Lies Not In Your Good Will.

As He Was Valiant, I Honour Him. But As He Was Ambitious, I Slew Him.

I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know Not--lost All My Mirth, Forgone All Custom Of Exercise.