Man Hath Weaved Out A Net, And

Our Two Souls Therefore, Which Are One, Though I Must Go, Endure Not Yet A Breach, But An Expansion, Like Gold To Airy Thinness Beat. If They Be Two, They Are Two So As Stiff Twin Compasses Are Two; Thy Soul, The Fixed Foot, Makes No Show To Move, But Doth If Th' Other Do. And Though It In The Center Sit, Yet When The Other Far Doth Roam, It Leans And Hearkens After It, And Grows Erect, As That Comes Home. Suth Wilt Thou Be To Me, Who Must Like Th' Other Foot, Obliquely Run; Thy Firmness Makes My Circle Just, And Makes Me End Where I Began.

Humiliation Is The Beginning Of Sanctification; And As Without This, Without Holiness, No Man Shall See God, Though He Pore Whole Nights Upon His Bible; So Without That, Without Humility, No Man Shall Hear God Speak To His Soul, Though He Hear Three Two-hour Sermons Every Day.

For I Am Every Dead Thing In Whom Love Wrought New Alchemy For His Art Did Express A Quintessence Even From Nothingness, From Dull Privations, And Lean Emptiness He Ruined Me, And I Am Re-begot Of Absence, Darkness, Death; Things Which Are Not.

To An Incompetent Judge I Must Not Lie, But I May Be Silent; To A Competent I Must Answer.

I Long To Talk With Some Old Lover's Ghost, Who Died Before The God Of Love Was Born.