The Attempt And Not The Deed Confounds

Where The Greater Malady Is Fixed, The Lesser Is Scarce Felt.

Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed The Dear Repose For Limbs With Travel Tired; But Then Begins A Journey In My Head To Work My Mind, When Body's Work's Expir'd: For Then My Thoughts-from Far Where I Abide- Intend A Zealous Pilgrimage To Thee, And Keep My Drooping Eyelids Open Wide, Looking On Darkness Which The Blind Do See: Save That My Soul's Imaginary Sight Presents Thy Shadow To My Sightless View, Which, Like A Jewel Hung In Ghastly Night, Makes Black Night Beauteous And Her Old Face New. Lo! Thus, By Day My Limbs, By Night My Mind, For Thee, And For Myself No Quiet Find.

I'll Not Meddle With It; It Is A Dangerous Thing; It Makes A Man A Coward; A Man Cannot Steal, But It Accuseth Him; A Man Cannot Swear, But It Checks Him; A Man Cannot Lie With His Neighbor's Wife, But It Detects Him. 'tis A Blushing, Shame -faced Spirit, That Mutinies In A Man's Bosom ; It Fills One Full Of Obstacles; It Made Me Once Restore A Purse Of Gold That By Chance I Found; It Beggars Any Man That Keeps It; It Is Turned Out Of All Towns And Cities For A Dangerous Thing; And Every Man That Means To Live Well Endeavors To Trust To Himself And Live Without It.

O Hell! To Choose Love With Another's Eye.

Put Forth Thy Hand, Reach At The Glorious Gold.