A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses

Evil into the mind of god or man may come and go, so unapproved, and leave no spot or blame behind.

Imparadis'd in one another's arms.

How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!

God sure esteems the growth and completing of one virtuous person, more that the restraint of ten vicious.

But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.

Evil, be thou my good.