Sow Seed--but Let No Tyrant Reap; Find

Love's Pestilence, And Her Slow Dogs Of War.

If God Has Spoken, Why Is The World Not Convinced.

It Were As Wise To Cast A Violet Into A Crucible That You Might Discover The Formal Principle Of Its Color And Odor, As Seek To Transfuse From One Language Into Another The Creations Of A Poet. The Plant Must Spring Again From Its Seed, Or It Will Bear No Flower -- And This Is The Burthen Of The Curse Of Babel.

I Have Drunken Deep Of Joy, And I Will Taste No Other Wine Tonight.

...what Are Numbers Knit By Force Or Custom? Man Who Man Would Be, Must Rule The Empire Of Himself; In It Must Be Supreme, Establishing His Throne On Vanquished Will, Quelling The Anarchy Of Hopes And Fears, Being Himself Alone.