The Stars, That Nature Hung In Heaven,

Pandemonium, The High Capital Of Satan And His Peers.

Dark With Excessive Bright.

In The Sweat Of Thy Face Thou Shalt Eat Bread, Till Thou Return Unto The Ground; For Thou Out Of The Ground Wast Taken; Know Thy Birth, For Dust Thou Art, And Shalt To Dust Return.

Sweet Bird, That Shun The Noise Of Folly, Most Musical, Most Melancholy!

Nor Aught Availed Him Now To Have Built In Heaven High Towers; Nor Did He Scrape By All His Engines, But Was Headlong Sent With His Industrious Crew To Build In Hell.