Were All The Letters Sun, I Could

Bid Me Run, And I Will Strive With Things Impossible.

Thou Ominous And Fearful Owl Of Death.

Your Worm Is Your Only Emperor For Diet; We Fat All Creatures Else To Fat Us, And We Fat Ourselves For Maggots.

I 'gin To Be Aweary Of The Sun, And Wish Th' Estate O' Th' World Were Now Undone.

What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?