Hell Is The Wrath Of God--his Hate

As The Master So The Valet.

For As Nightingales Do Upon Glow-worms Feed, So Poets Live Upon The Living Light.

It Matters Not How Long We Live But How.

Who Can Mistake Great Thoughts? They Seize Upon The Mind; Arrest And Search, And Shake It; Bow The Tall Soul As By Wind; Rush Over It Like A River Reeds.

The Dew, 'tis Of The Tears Which Stars Weep, Sweet With Joy.