One Power Alone Makes A Poet: Imagination.

I Love Hanging And Drawing And Quartering Every Bit As Well As War And Slaughtering.

Where Others See But The Dawn Coming Over The Hill, I See The Soul Of God Shouting For Joy.

But Most Thro' Midnight Streets I Hear How The Youthful Harlots Curse Blasts The New-born Infants Tear And Blights With Plagues The Marriage Hearse

England! Awake! Awake! Awake! Jerusalem Thy Sister Calls! Why Wilt Thou Sleep The Sleep Of Death And Close Her From Thy Ancient Walls?

Down The Winding Cavern We Groped Our Tedious Way, Till A Void Boundless As The Nether Sky Appeared Beneath Us, And We Held By The Roots Of Trees And Hung Over This Immensity; But I Said: If You Please We Will Commit Ourselves To This Void And See Whether Providence Is Here Also.