What If Earth Be But The Shadow

Nor Jealousy Was Understood, The Injur'd Lover's Hell.

And Ever Against Eating Cares Lap Me In Soft Lydian Airs, Married To Immortal Verse

Who Would Not, Finding Way, Break Loose From Hell, . . . . And Boldly Venture To Whatever Place Farthest From Pain?

This Manner Of Writing Wherein Knowing Myself Inferior To Myself? I Have The Use, As I May Account It, But Of My Left Hand.

Now Conscience Wakes Despair That Slumber'd,-wakes The Bitter Memory Of What He Was, What Is, And What Must Be Worse.