Desperate Remorse Swallows The Present

One Thought Fills Immensity.

The Eye Sees More Than The Heart Knows.

I Wander Thro' Each Charter'd Street, Near Where The Charter'd Thames Does Flow, And Mark In Every Face I Meet Marks Of Weakness, Marks Of Woe. In Every Cry Of Every Man, In Every Infant's Cry Of Fear, In Every Voice, In Every Ban, The Mind-forg'd Manacles I Hear. How The Chimney-sweeper's Cry Every Black'ning Church Appalls; And The Hapless Soldier's Sigh Runs In Blood Down Palace Walls. But Most Thro' Midnight Streets I Hear How The Youthful Harlot's Curse Blasts The New Born Infant's Tear, And Blights With Plagues The Marriage Hearse.

The Inquiry In England Is Not Whether A Man Has Talents And Genius, But Whether He Is Passive And Polite And A Virtuous Ass And Obedient To Noblemen's Opinions In Art And Science. If He Is, He Is A Good Man. If Not, He Must Be Starved.

Without Minute Neatness Of Execution, The Sublime Cannot Exist! Grandeur Of Ideas Is Founded On Precision Of Ideas.