Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.
It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.
Where all life dies death lives.
O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men.
They are the troublers, they are the dividers of unity, who neglect and don't permit others to unite those dissevered pieces which are yet wanting to the body of Truth.