I neglect God and his angles for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.

And now good morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear; For love, all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room, an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown, Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.

I neglect God and his angles for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born.

That which attempts to elevate the ugly to the level of beauty becomes neither; but an obscenity.

For I am every dead thing In whom love wrought new alchemy For his art did express A quintessence even from nothingness, From dull privations, and lean emptiness He ruined me, and I am re-begot Of absence, darkness, death; things which are not.

Nature hath no goal though she hath law.