If The Sun And Moon Should Ever

It Is Easier To Forgive An Enemy Than To Forgive A Friend.

Like A Fiend In A Cloud, With Howling Woe, After Night I Do Crowd, And With Night Will Go; I Turn My Back To The East, From Whence Comforts Have Increased; For Light Doth Seize My Brain With Frantic Pain.

Thus Men Forgot That All Deities Reside In The Human Breast.

Little Fly, Thy Summer's Play My Thoughtless Hand Has Brushed Away. Am Not I A Fly Like Thee? Or Art Not Thou A Man Like Me? For I Dance And Drink And Sing, Till Some Blind Hand Shall Brush My Wing!

All Pictures That's Painted With Sense And With Thought / Are Painted By Madmen As Sure As A Groat; / For The Greater The Fool In The Pencil More Blest, / And When They Are Drunk They Always Paint Best.