A Shout That Tore Hell's Concave, And

I Sat Me Down To Watch Upon A Bank With Ivy Canopied And Interwove With Flaunting Honeysuckle.

The Conquer'd, Also, And Enslaved By War, Shall, With Their Freedom Lost, All Virtue Lose.

Fairest Of Stars, Last In The Train Of Night, If Better Thou Belong Not To The Dawn.

Wherefore Did Nature Pour Her Bounties Forth With Such A Full And Unwithdrawing Hand, Covering The Earth With Odours, Fruits, Flocks, Thronging The Seas With Spawn Innumerable, But All To Please And Sate The Curious Taste?

The Oracles Are Dumb, No Voice Or Hideous Hum Runs Thro' The Arched Roof In Words Deceiving.