What If This Present Were

I Shall Not Live 'till I See God; And When I Have Seen Him, I Shall Never Die.

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.

Poetry Is A Counterfeit Creation, And Makes Things That Are Not, As Though They Were

Never Start With Tomorrow To Reach Eternity. Eternity Is Not Being Reached By Small Steps.

Men Are Sponges, Which, To Pour Out, Receive; Who Know False Play, Rather Than Lose, Deceive. For In Best Understandings Sin Began, Angels Sinn'd First, Then Devils, And Then Man. Only Perchance Beasts Sin Not ; Wretched We Are Beasts In All But White Integrity.