Thou Tremblest Before Anticipated Ills, And Still

Quite Often, As Life Goes On, When We Feel Completely Secure As We Go On Our Way, We Suddenly Notice That We Are Trapped In Error, That We Have Allowed Ourselves To Be Taken In By Individuals, By Objects, Have Dreamt Up An Affinity With Them Which Immediately Vanishes Before Our Waking Eye; And Yet We Cannot Tear Ourselves Away, Held Fast By Some Power That Seems Incomprehensible To Us. Sometimes, However, We Become Fully Aware And Realize That Error As Well As Truth Can Move And Spur Us On To Action.

At Bottom, No Real Object Is Unpoetical, If The Poet Knows How To Use It Properly.

I Laugh At My Heart, And Do Its Will

I Am A Part Of The Part That At First Was All, Part Of The Darkness That Gave Birth To The Light, That Supercilious Light Which Now Disputes With Mother Night Her Ancient Rank And Space, And Yet Cannot Succeed; No Matter How It Struggles, It Sticks To Matter And Can't Get Free. Light Flows From Substance, Makes It Beautiful.

We Are Not All Equal, Nor Can We Be So.