Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.

Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.

It calls Devotion! genuine growth of night! Devotion! Daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad!

Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.

This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.

Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.

Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.