The Fates But Only Spin The Coarser

Of All The Tyrannies On Human Kind The Worst Is That Which Persecutes The Mind.

Love Reckons Hours For Months, And Days For Years; And Every Little Absence Is An Age.

All Things Are Subject To Decay And When Fate Summons, Monarchs Must Obey.

Our Souls Sit Close And Silently Within, And Their Own Web From Their Own Entrails Spin; And When Eyes Meet Far Off, Our Sense Is Such, That, Spider-like, We Feel The Tenderest Touch.

For All The Happiness Mankind Can Gain Is Not In Pleasure, But In Rest From Pain.