You sect most adverse to the good and true, Degenerate from your origin divine, Pastured on lies and shadows by the line Of Thais, Sinon, Judas, Homer! You,...
If men were happy in that age of gold, We yet may hope to see mild Saturn's reign; For all things that were buried live again, By time's revolving cycle forward rolled....
I fear that by my death the human race Would gain no vantage. Thus I do not die. So wide is this vast cage of misery That flight and change lead to no happier place....
Lycoris, Lycidas, and Dryope Cannot, dear Niblo, save thy name from death; Shadows that fleet, and flowers that yield their breath, Match not the Love that craves infinity....
All crime is its own torment, bearing woe To mind or body or decrease of fame; If not at once, still step by step our name Or blood or friends or fortune it brings low....
The fabric of the world--earth, air, and skies-- Each particle thereof and tiniest part Designed for special ends--proclaims the art Of an almighty Maker good and wise....
He who loves truly, grows in force and might; For beauty and the image of his love Expand his spirit: whence he burns to prove Adventures high, and holds all perils light....
The golden head was Babylon; she passed: Persia came next, the silvern breast: whereto Joined brazen flank and belly--these are you, Ye men of Macedon! Now Rome's the last....
That Lady who to Caesar came in state Upon the Rubicon, what time she feared Ruin from those strange races who appeared Erewhile to build her empire strong and great,...
Here bend in boundless wonder; bow your head: Think how God's deathless Mind, that men might be Robed in celestial immortality (O Love divine!), in flesh was raimented:...
O you who love the part more than the whole, And love yourself more than all human kind, Who persecute good men with prudence blind Because they combat your malign control,...
'Behold, I am a Sophist!' no man saith. But the true sons of perfidy refined Forge theologic lies the soul to blind, Calling themselves evangels of the faith....
Organ of rut, not reason, is the lord Who from the body politic doth drain Lust for himself, instead of toil and pain, Leaving us lean as crickets on dry sward....