Oh, Shame To Men! Devil

The Starry Cope Of Heaven.

His Form Had Yet Not Lost All Her Original Brightness, Nor Appear'd Less Than Archangel Ruin'd, And Th' Excess Of Glory Obscur'd.

Beauty Is God's Handwriting-a Wayside Sacrament.

I On The Other Side Us'd No Ambition To Commend My Deeds; The Deeds Themselves, Though Mute, Spoke Loud The Doer.

Oft, On A Plat Of Rising Ground, I Hear The Far-off Curfew Sound Over Some Wide-watered Shore, Swinging Low With Sullen Roar.