The Angel That Presided O'er My Birth

A Skylark Wounded In The Wing, / A Cherubim Does Cease To Sing.

You Smile With Pomp And Rigor, You Talk Of Benevolence And Virtue; I Act With Benevolence And Virtue And Get Murdered Time After Time.

The Foundation Of Empire Is Art And Science. Remove Them Or Degrade Them, And The Empire Is No More. Empire Follows Art And Not Vice Versa As Englishmen Suppose.

Lo! Now The Direful Monster, Whose Skin Clings To His Strong Bones, Strides O'er The Groaning Rocks: He Withers All In Silence, And His Hand Unclothes The Earth, And Freezes Up Frail Life.

Tyger! Tyger! Burning Bright In The Forests Of The Night, What Immortal Hand Or Eye Could Frame Thy Fearful Symmetry?