Though Rome's Gross Yoke Drops Off, No

Unless You Can Love, As The Angels May, With The Breadth Of Heaven Betwixt You; Unless You Can Dream That His Faith Is Fast, Through Behoving And Unbeloving; Unless You Can Die When The Dream Is Past- Oh, Never Call It Loving!

In The Morning Of The World, When Earth Was Nigher Heaven Than Now.

Death: The Grand Perhaps.

The Devil, That Old Stager, Who Leads Downward, Perhaps, But Fiddles All The Way!

What I Aspired To Be And Was Not, Comforts Me.