Then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess A Paradise within thee, happier far.

Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss.

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!

Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.

Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?

Virtue that wavers is not virtue, but vice revolted from itself, and after a while returning. The actions of just and pious men do not darken in their middle course.

Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.