So Much I Feel My Genial Spirits

The Nodding Horror Of Whose Shady Brows Threats The Forlorn And Wandering Passenger.

Should God Create Another Eve, And I Another Rib Afford, Yet Loss Of Thee Would Never From My Heart; No No, I Feel The Link Of Nature Draw Me: Flesh Of Flesh, Bone Of My Bone Thou Art, And From Thy State Mine Never Shall Be Parted, Bliss Or Woe.

The Sun To Me Is Dark And Silent As The Moon, When She Deserts The Night Hid In Her Vacant Interlunar Cave.

No Worthy Enterprise Can Be Done By Us Without Continual Plodding And Wearisomeness To Our Faint And Sensitive Abilities.

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.