Look On Beauty, And You

Doubt Is A Thief That Often Makes Us Fear To Tread Where We Might Have Won.

There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murder In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell.

This Music Crept By Me Upon The Waters, Allaying Both Their Fury And My Passion With Its Sweet Air: Thence I Have Follow’d It.

Love Is Merely A Madness, And, I Tell You, Deserves As Well A Dark House And A Whip As Madmen Do.

Well, God's Above All; And There Be Souls Must Be Saved, And There Be Souls Must Not Be Saved.