Yet From Those Flames No Light, But

Evil On Itself Shall Back Recoil.

O Welcome Pure-eyed Faith, White Handed Hope, Thou Hovering Angel Girt With Golden Wings.

O Why Did God, Creator Wise, That Peopled Highest Heav'n With Spirits Masculine, Create At Last This Novelty On Earth, This Fair Defect Of Nature, And Not Fill The World At Once With Men As Angels Without Feminine, Or Find Some Other Way To Generate Mankind?

Virtue That Wavers Is Not Virtue.

Into This Wild Abyss/ The Womb Of Nature, And Perhaps Her Grave--/ Of Neither Sea, Nor Shore, Nor Air, Nor Fire,/ But All These In Their Pregnant Causes Mixed/ Confusedly, And Which Thus Must Ever Fight,/ Unless The Almighty Maker Them Ordain/ His Dark Materials To Create More Worlds,--/ Into This Wild Abyss The Wary Fiend/ Stood On The Brink Of Hell And Looked A While,/ Pondering His Voyage; For No Narrow Frith/ He Had To Cross.