Bacchus, That First From Out

Our State Cannot Be Severed, We Are One, One Flesh; To Lose Thee Were To Lose Myself.

And Out Of Good Still To Find Means Of Evil.

That Power Which Erring Men Call Chance.

Law Can Discover Sin, But Not Remove, Save By Those Shadowy Expiations Weak.

Those Graceful Acts, Those Thousand Decencies, That Daily Flow From All Her Words And Actions, Mixed With Love And Sweet Compliance, Which Declare Unfeigned Union Of Mind, Or In Us Both One Soul.