Never Can True Reconcilement Grow Where Wounds

So Glistered The Dire Snake , And Into Fraud Led Eve, Our Credulous Mother, To The Tree Of Prohibition, Root Of All Our Woe.

What Hath Night To Do With Sleep?

Nor Turned I Ween Adam From His Fair Spouse, Nor Eve The Rites Mysterious Of Connubial Love Refused: Whatever Hypocrites Austerely Talk Of Purity And Place And Innocence, Defaming As Impure What God Declares Pure, And Commands To Some, Leaves Free To All.

Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell.

Men Of Most Renowned Virtue Have Sometimes By Transgressing Most Truly Kept The Law.