Where Beams Of Imagination Play, The Memory's

Go, Wiser Thou! And In Thy Scale Of Sense Weigh Thy Opinion Against Providence.

But Satan Now Is Wiser Than Of Yore, And Tempts By Making Rich, Not Making Poor.

No Woman Ever Hates A Man For Being In Love With Her, But Many A Woman Hate A Man For Being A Friend To Her.

Nor Public Flame, Nor Private, Dares To Shine; Nor Human Spark Is Left, Nor Glimpse Divine! Lo! Thy Dread Empire, Chaos! Is Restored; Light Dies Before Thy Uncreating Word: Thy Hand, Great Anarch! Lets The Curtain Fall; And Universal Darkness Buries All.

How Shall I Lose The Sin, Yet Keep The Sense, And Love The Offender, Yet Detest The Offence?