With Thee Conversing I Forget All Time.

What Is Dark Within Me, Illumine.

Now The Bright Morning-star, Day's Harbinger, Comes Dancing From The East.

Thoughts That Voluntary Move Harmonious Numbers.

And Sing To Those That Hold The Vital Shears; And Turn The Adamantine Spindle Round, On Which The Fate Of Gods And Men Is Wound.

If It Come To Prohibiting, There Is Aught More Likely To Be Prohibited Than Truth Itself.