With Ruin Upon Ruin, Rout On Rout,

Those Whom Reason Hath Equalled, Force Hath Made Supreme

So Spake The Seraph Abdiel, Faithful Found; Among The Faithless, Faithful Only He.

Deep Vers'd In Books, And Shallow In Himself.

Midnight Brought On The Dusky Hour Friendliest To Sleep And Silence.

Alas! What Boots It With Uncessant Care To Tend The Homely Slighted Shepherd's Trade, And Strictly Meditate The Thankless Muse; Were It Not Better Done As Others Use, To Sport With Amaryllis In The Shade, Or With The Tangles Of Neaera's Hair? Fame Is The Spur That The Clear Spirit Doth Raise (that Last Infirmity Of Noble Mind) To Scorn Delights, And Live Laborious Days; But The Fair Guerdon When We Hope To Find, And Think To Burst Out Into Sudden Blaze, Comes The Blind Fury With Th'abhorred Shears, And Slits The Thin-spun Life.