Blood, Though It Sleep A

I Will Neither Yield To The Song Of The Siren Nor The Voice Of The Hyena, The Tears Of The Crocodile Nor The Howling Of The Wolf.

Blood, Though It Sleep A Time, Yet Never Dies. The Gods On Murtherers Fix Revengeful Eyes.

Man Is A Torch Borne In The Wind; A Dream But Of A Shadow, Summed With All His Substance.

Who Hath No Faith To Man, To God Hath None.

And Let A Scholar All Earth's Volumes Carry, He Will Be But A Walking Dictionary: A Mere Articulate Clock.