Wickedness Is Weakness.

. . . For Beauty Stands In The Admiration Only Of Weak Minds Led Captive. Cease To Admire, And All Her Plumes Fall Flat And Shrink Into A Trivial Toy, At Every Sudden Slighting Quite Abash'd.

The Timely Dew Of Sleep Now Falling With Soft Slumb'rous Weight Inclines Our Eyelids.

And So Sepúlchred In Such Pomp Dost Lie, That Kings For Such A Tomb Would Wish To Die.

Untwisting All The Chains That Tie The Hidden Soul Of Harmony.

O Fairest Of Creation, Last And Best Of All God's Works, Creature In Whom Excelled Whatever Can To Sight Or Thought Be Formed, Holy, Divine, Good, Amiable, Or Sweet! How Art Thou Lost, How On A Sudden Lost, Defaced, Deflow'red, And Now To Death Devote? Paradise Lost