That Which Attempts To Elevate The Ugly

To Rage, To Lust, To Write To, To Commend, All Is The Purlieu Of The God Of Love.

Tis True, 'tis Day; What Though It Be? O Wilt Thou Therefore Rise From Me? Why Should We Rise, Because 'tis Light? Did We Lie Down, Because 'twas Night? Love Which In Spite Of Darkness Brought Us Hither Should In Despite Of Light Keep Us Together.

A Mathematical Point Is The Most Indivisble And Unique Thing Which Art Can Present.

I Wonder, By My Troth, What Thou And I Did, Till We Lov'd?

Nature's Lay Idiot, I Taught Thee To Love.