Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations.
Good to forgive, Best to forget.
Though Rome's gross yoke Drops off, no more to be endured, Her teaching is not so obscured By errors and perversities, That no truth shines athwart the lies.
The world and life's too big to pass for a dream
Ambition is not what man does... but what man would do.