Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer

Laws die, Books never.

Laws die, Books never.

Alone!--That worn-out word,
So idly spoken, and so coldly heard;
Yet all that poets sing, and grief read more

Alone!--That worn-out word,
So idly spoken, and so coldly heard;
Yet all that poets sing, and grief hath known,
Of hope laid waste, knells in that word--Alone!

Sublime Philosophy!
Thou art the patriarch's ladder, reaching heaven;
And bright with beckoning angels--but alas!
read more

Sublime Philosophy!
Thou art the patriarch's ladder, reaching heaven;
And bright with beckoning angels--but alas!
We see thee like the patriarch, but in dreams,
By the first step,--dull slumbering on the earth.

Dear Land to which Desire forever flees;
Time doth no present to our grasp allow,
Say in read more

Dear Land to which Desire forever flees;
Time doth no present to our grasp allow,
Say in the fixed Eternal shall we seize
At last the fleeting Now?

Fool me no fools.

Fool me no fools.