Into This Wild Abyss, The Womb Of

This Is Servitude, To Serve Th'unwise, Or Him Who Hath Rebelled Against His Worthier, As Thine Now Serve Thee, Thyself Not Free, But To Thyself Enthralled.

Look Homeward, Angel, Now, And Melt With Ruth.

Dark With Excessive Bright.

My Heart Contains Of Good, Wise, Just, The Perfect Shape.

Abashed The Devil Stood And Felt How Awful Goodness Is And Saw Virtue In Her Shape How Lovely: And Pined His Loss