How Much Shall I Be Changed, Before

To Know And Feel All This And Not Have The Words To Express It Makes A Human A Grave Of His Own Thoughts.

If I Dream I Have You, I Have You, For All Our Joys Are But Fantastical.

For I Am Every Dead Thing In Whom Love Wrought New Alchemy For His Art Did Express A Quintessence Even From Nothingness, From Dull Privations, And Lean Emptiness He Ruined Me, And I Am Re-begot Of Absence, Darkness, Death; Things Which Are Not.

Pleasure Is None, If Not Diversified.

My World's Both Parts, And 'o! Both Parts Must Die.