For She Doth Make My Veins And

Conscience, That Boon Companion Who Sets A Man Free Under The Strong Breastplate Of Innocence, That Bids Him On And Fear Not.

Imagination, That Dost So Abstract Us That We Are Not Aware, Not Even When A Thousand Trumpets Sound About Our Ears!

You Shall Find Out How Salt Is The Taste Of Another Man's Bread, And How Hard Is The Way Up And Down Another Man's Stairs.

Consider The Sea's Listless Chime: Time's Self It Is, Made Audible.

Be As A Tower Firmly Set; Shakes Not Its Top For Any Blast That Blows.