Guiltiness Will Speak, Though Tongues Were Out

Glory Is Like A Circle In The Water, Which Never Ceaseth To Enlarge Itself, Till, By Broad Spreading, It Disperse To Naught.

Love Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom.

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice.

Like Madness, Is The Glory Of This Life.

Let Fancy Still In My Sense In Lethe Steep; If It Be Thus To Dream, Still Let Me Sleep!