O The Mind, Mind Has Mountains; Cliffs

Your Personal Boundaries Protect The Inner Core Of Your Identity And Your Right To Choices.

I Say That We Are Wound With Mercy Round And Round As If With Air.

No Wonder Of It: Sheer Plod Makes Plough Down Sillion Shine, And Blue-bleak Embers, Ah My Dear, Fall, Gall Themselves, And Gash Gold-vermilion.

I Am Surprised You Shd. Say Fancy And Aesthetic Tastes Have Led Me To My Present State Of Mind: These Wd. Be Better Satisfied In The Church Of England, For Bad Taste Is Always Meeting One In The Accessories Of Catholicism.

What I Do Is Me, For That I Came.