What am I pondering, you ask? So help me God, immortality.
Lifted up so high I disdained subjection, and thought one step higher would set me highest.
Methought I saw my late espoused saint.
Her silent course advance With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps On her soft axle.
Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.