Doubting Charms Me Not Less Than Knowledge.

Perceive Ye Not That We Are Worms, Designed To Form The Angelic Butterfly, That Goes To Judgment, Leaving All Defence Behind? Why Doth Your Mind Take Such Exalted Pose, Since Ye, Disabled, Are As Insects, Mean As Worm Which Never Transformation Knows?

There Are Souls Beneath That Water. Fixed In Slimethey Speak Their Piece, End It, And Start Again:'sullen Were We In The Air Made Sweet By The Sun;in The Glory Of His Shining Our Hearts Poureda Bitter Smoke. Sullen Were We Begun;sullen We Lie Forever In This Ditch.'this Litany They Gargle In Their Throatsas If They Sand, But Lacked The Words And Pitch.

And As He, Who With Laboring Breath Has Escaped From The Deep To The Shore, Turns To The Perilous Waters And Gazes.

There, Pride, Avarice, And Envy Are The Tongues Men Know And Heed, A Babel Of Depsair

Mankind, Why Do Ye Set Your Hearts On Things That, Of Necessity, May Not Be Shared?