Love's Pestilence, And Her Slow Dogs Of

For There Are Deeds Which Have No Form, Sufferings Which Have No Tongue.

Men Of England, Wherefore Plough For The Lords Who Lay You Low?

Deep Truth Is Imageless.

Sow Seed--but Let No Tyrant Reap; Find Wealth--let No Imposter Heap; Weave Robes--let Not The Idle Wear; Forge Arms--in Your Defence To Bear.

Then Black Despair, The Shadow Of A Starless Night, Was Thrown Over The World In Which I Moved Alone.