To Live A Life Half Dead, A

Can Any Mortal Mixture Of Earth's Mould Breathe Such Divine Enchanting Ravishment?

If This Fail, The Pillar'd Firmament Is Rottenness, And Earth's Base Built On Stubble.

These Eyes, Tho' Clear To Outward View Of Blemish Or Of Spot, Bereft Of Light, Their Seeing Have Forgot, Nor To Their Idle Orbs Doth Sight Appear Of Sun, Or Moon, Or Star, Throughout The Year, Or Man, Or Woman. Yet I Argue Not Against Heaven's Hand Or Will, Not Bate A Jot Of Heart Or Hope; But Still Bear Up And Steer Right Onward.

Abash'd The Devil Stood, And Felt How Awful Goodness Is.

Knowledge Forbidden? Suspicious, Reasonless. Why Should Their Lord Envy Them That? Can It Be A Sin To Know? Can It Be Death?