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....
Born of God's Wisdom and Philosophy, Keen lover of true beauty and true good, I call the vain self-traitorous multitude Back to my mother's milk; for it is she,...
O Thou, who, mingling Force and Love, dost draw And guide the complex of all entities, Framed for that purpose; whence our reason sees In supreme Fate the synthesis of Law;...
Valour to pride hath turned; grave holiness To vile hypocrisy; all gentle ways To empty forms; sound sense to idle lays; Pure love to heat; beauty to paint and dress:--...