Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, Were't not a Shame—were't not a Shame for him In this clay carcase crippled to abide?
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"Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument About it and about: but evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went."
"The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, But right or left as strikes the Player goes; And He that toss'd you down into the Field, He knows about it all—He knows—He knows!"
"For we are helpless pieces of the game He plays Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays."
"The Fire that on my bosom burns, Is not the Fire of Hell; But the Fire of Love, that turns My Soul into a Bell."
"The Potter's Circle, where the pots are made, and broken, and made again, is the symbol of life and death."
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