Tower'd Cities Please Us Then, And The

My Latest Found, Heaven's Last, Best Gift, My Ever New Delight!

Virtue That Wavers Is Not Virtue, But Vice Revolted From Itself, And After A While Returning. The Actions Of Just And Pious Men Do Not Darken In Their Middle Course.

Fairy Elves, Whose Midnight Revels By A Forest Side Or Fountain Some Belated Peasant Sees, Or Dreams He Sees, While Overhead The Moon Sits Arbitress.

Death To Life Is Crown Or Shame.

Me Miserable! Which Way Shall I Fly Infinite Wrath And Infinite Despair? Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell; And In The Lowest Deep A Lower Deep, Still Threat'ning To Devour Me, Opens Wide, To Which The Hell I Suffer Seems A Heaven.