To Rage, To Lust, To

Come Live With Me, And Be My Love, And We Will Some New Pleasures Prove Of Golden Sands, And Crystal Brooks, With Silken Lines, And Silver Hooks.

The World Is A Great Volume, And Man The Index Of That Book; Even In The Body Of Man, You May Turn To The Whole World.

There Is No Health; Physicians Say That We, At Best, Enjoy But Neutrality.

There Is In Every Miracle A Silent Chiding Of The World, And A Tacit Reprehension Of Them Who Require, Or Who Need Miracles.

We Are All Conceived In Close Prison; In Our Mothers Wombs, We Are Close Prisoners All; When We Are Born, We Are Born But To The Liberty Of The House; Prisoners Still, Though Within Larger Walls; And Then All Our Life Is But A Going Out To The Place Of Execution, To Death.