Kind Pity Chokes My Spleen.

At The Round Earth's Imagined Corners, Blow Your Trumpets, Angels, And Arise, Arise From Death, You Numberless Infinities Of Souls **** All Whom War, Dearth, Age, Agues, Tyrannies, Despair, Law, Chance, Hath Slain.

Never Start With Tomorrow To Reach Eternity. Eternity Is Not Being Reached By Small Steps.

Let Man's Soul Be A Sphere, And Then, In This, The Intelligence That Moves, Devotion Is.

What If This Present Were The World's Last Night?

Love Is A Growing, Or Full Constant Light; And His First Minute, After Noon, Is Night.