Sweet Is The Breath Of

Fairy Elves, Whose Midnight Revels By A Forest Side Or Fountain Some Belated Peasant Sees, Or Dreams He Sees, While Overhead The Moon Sits Arbitress.

Hail, Holy Light! Offspring Of Heaven Firstborn! Or Of Th' Eternal Co-eternal Beam, May I Express Thee Unblam'd? Since God Is Light And Never But In Unapproached Light Dwelt From Eternity, Dwelt Then In Thee, Bright Effluence Of Bright Essence Increate!

A Beardless Cynic Is The Shame Of Nature.

Virtue Could See To Do What Virtue Would By Her Own Radiant Light, Though Sun And Moon Were In The Flat Sea Sunk. And Wisdom's Self Oft Seeks To Sweet Retired Solitude, Where With Her Best Nurse Contemplation She Plumes Her Feathers And Lets Grow Her Wings, That In The Various Bustle Of Resort Were All-to Ruffled, And Sometimes Impair'd. He That Has Light Within His Own Clear Breast May Sit I' Th' Centre And Enjoy Bright Day; But He That Hides A Dark Soul And Foul Thoughts Benighted Walks Under The Midday Sun.

Virtue That Wavers Is Not Virtue.