Solitude is sometimes best society.
I fled, and cry'd out, Death; Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh'd From all her caves, and back resounded, Death.
Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.
Heaven open'd wide Her ever during gates, harmonious sound, On golden hinges moving.
Socrates... Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men.
O fleeting joys Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!