Only This I Know, That One Celestial

That Practis'd Falsehood Under Saintly Shew, Deep Malice To Conceal, Couch'd With Revenge.

And If By Prayer Incessant I Could Hope To Change The Will Of Him Who All Things Can, I Would Not Cease To Weary Him With My Assiduous Cries.

My Mansion Is, Where Those Immortal Shapes Of Bright Aerial Spirits Live Insphered In Regions Mild Of Calm And Serene Air, Above The Smoke And Stir Of This Dim Spot Which Men Call Earth.

O Conscience, Into What Abyss Of Fears And Horrors Hast Thou Driven Me, Out Of Which I Find No Way, From Deep To Deeper Plunged.

A Short Retirement Urges A Sweet Return.