Where Glowing Embers Through The Room Teach

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.

See Golden Days, Fruitful Of Golden Deeds, With Joy And Love Triumphing.

Fame Is No Plant That Grows On Mortal Soil.

I Did But Prompt The Age To Quit Their Clogs By The Known Rules Of Ancient Liberty, When Straight A Barbarous Noise Environs Me Of Owls And Cuckoos, Asses, Apes And Dogs.

A Boundless Continent, Dark, Waste, And Wild, Under The Frown Of Night Starless Expos'd.