Hence, Loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus And Blackest

Thus With The Year Seasons Return; But Not To Me Returns Day, Or The Sweet Approach Of Even Or Morn, Or Sight Of Vernal Bloom Or Summer's Rose, Or Flocks, Or Herds, Or Human Face Divine; But Cloud Instead, And Ever-during Dark Surrounds Me; From The Cheerful Ways Of Men Cut Off, And For The Book Of Knowledge Fair Presented With A Universal Blank Of Nature's Works, To Me Expung'd And Raz'd, And Wisdom At One Entrance Quite Shut Out.

Can Any Mortal Mixture Of Earth's Mould Breathe Such Divine Enchanting Ravishment?

For What Can War, But Endless War, Still Breed?

Laws Can Discover Sin, But Not Remove It

Give Me The Liberty To Know, To Utter, And To Argue Freely According To Conscience, Above All Liberties.